Pride of Kavazara
by Shadow's Forge
Summary: An deadly, ancient enemy comes from the Far Northlands, seeking to satisfy a cold, base hunger. The castle of New Kavazara, Bladestone, opposes them... but it may not be enough.
1. Notes and Glossary

**_PRIDE OF KAVAZARA_**

By

Gregory P. Wong

* * *

**Author's Notes and Glossary**

* * *

**It is highly recommended that this is read before proceeding to the novel**

* * *

**Disclaimer**: The world of Redwall is created by Brian Jacques. Redwall Abbey, Mossflower, Salamandastron, the Long Patrol, Martin the Warrior, etc, are the property of Brian Jacques. 

This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to persons, living or dead, climes, locales or situations are either coincidental or are used fictiously.

**Acknowledgements**: Special thanks goes to Dani, aka "Sounasha" (ID: 9152), for creating her wonderful story "Vengeance Quest." (ID: 1965410) As some characters are borrowed--with the author's permission--it is recommended that the reader first reads Vengeance Quest.

**Notes on Kavazaran cultures**: Remember that the Kavarzarans are from a foreign area, and would thus speak differently. References, colloqualisms, and social comments will be different from those of Mossflower denizens.

* * *

**RANKING SYSTEM **

(Templars, Wraiths)...(Crimson Guard)  
Private...N/A  
Private First Class...N/A  
Corporal...N/A  
Sergeant...Pilus  
Staff Sergeant...Pilus Prior  
Master Sergeant...Magna Pilus  
Sergeant Major...Suma Pilus  
Lieutenant...Centurion  
Captain...Tribune  
Major...N/A  
N/A...Praetor  
Colonel...N/A  
Brigadier General...N/A  
General...Archon  
War Marshal...Arbiter  
Grand Marshal...Grand Marshal

* * *

**FORMAL WEAPONS**

Dawn: Longsword of Tigron Sandstar. 36-inch blade and 6-inch hilt. Blade is uniform until it tapers sharply at the last three inches. Hilt is made of bronze, with straight guards that curve up bladewards near the tips. Blade is almost flat. Heavily engraved with wraithstone.

Dusk: Scythe of Tigron Sandstar. Black steel-plated wood handle is approximately four feet in length and is minutely curved. The blade is set on the convex side of the shaft. Blade is eight inches at the base, and tapers sharply. Heavily decorated with wraithstone decorations. Steel buttgrip and weight help counterbalance the blade.

Fade: Eastern straight saber of Blindsight. Similar in design to a Japanese katana. Blade is two feet long, and hilt is ten. Guard is a flat rectangle. Heavily filigreed with gold and bronze. Blade has the "water-patterns" of damascene steel.

Frost: Dual sickle staff of Raezel Snowdance. Shaft is four and a half feet long. Wide blades are on either end of the staff. Blades are shaped like the letter "C" and are approximately twelve inches across. Shaft is wrapped in tough, blue-dyed eelskin leather. Staff can be split apart at the midline to form two long-handled sickles. Heavily engraved with wraithstone. Specially designed blades whistle when spun at high speeds.

Glimmer: Broadsword of Herin Flickerfist. Four-foot blade and foot-long hilt. Guards are upturned crescents. Hilt is wrapped in muave-dyed leather. Heavily decorated with wraithstone inscriptions.

Heartseeker: Long rapier of Zine Trueblade. Blade is forty inches long. Has an standard crossguard. Heavily engraved with Wraithstone and gold.

Mist: Long dagger of Serai Galecut. Eight inch hilt, sixteen-inch blade. Hilt colored a dark blue. Engraved with wraithstones. Also see: Rain

Nightwhisper: Chain-sickle of Keruki. Consists of a 14-inch shaft with a 10-inch blade with an 8-foot, fine-linked chain connected to the rear of the shaft, terminating in a small, cylindrical iron weight. Colored a night black except at the blade, where the upper and lower razor edges are silvery.

Rocksunder: Greatsword of Rid Razorfang. Impressive blade is 72 inches long and 6 inches wide. Hilt is eighteen inches long. Blade thickens at the top for a sharp-ended oval shape. Incredibly strong. Hilt is decorated with rubies.

Rain: Long dagger of Serai Galecut. Eight inch hilt, sixteen-inch blade. Hilt colored a dark gray. Engraved with wraithstones. Also see: Mist

Shadowrend: Spear of Tritan Longspear. Blade is an elongated diamond, eight inches in length. Eight-foot haft is steel-encased yew. Slighty springy when moved at high speeds. Blade is flat, allowing it to penetrate armor. Heavily decorated with wraithstones.

Skyfire: Short rapier of Malaya Oakrune. Thirty-inch blade with a seven-inch basket hilt. Located on the ricasso is a ring that the user inserts a finger into. Designed to maximize thrusting speed, power, and distance, while providing protection to the finger. Beautifully decorated with burnished bronze and silver intaglio patterns, flames, lunar phase representations, and star designs. The name of the weapon is engraved near the hilt.

Stormcaller(s): Three-bladed wrist claws of Kleea Silverstorm. Each blade is a foot long and hooks at the end. Blades are anchored at flattened-flower-shaped wrist shields. Shields are colored a pale orange. Exquisitely decorated with wraithstone designs.

Sword of Martin the Warrior: Paw-and-a-half-sword sword once belonging to the legendary Martin of Redwall. Passed on to succeeding Abbey warriors. Currently carried by Wallace of Redwall. Sword is in paw-and-a-half configuration, able to be wielded one- or two-pawed. Overall length is five feet, fourteen inches taken up by the black-leather-wrapped hilt and large red pommelstone. Fullered along almost the entire length on both sides. Badger-runes appear on the blade. Created by Boar the Fighter. Made from star-steel, and rumored to be impervious to any sort of damage.

Windtear: Warchain of Felgara Whipclaw. Fifteen feet long with a thin, conical six-inch weight. Colored an emerald green. High wraithstone content allows the wielder to grasp or coil with the chain with mental commands.

* * *

**GENERAL WEAPON/ARMOR TERMS**

Assegai: Polearm. Long-bladed, close-quarter battle spear. Assegais utilized by the Templars have a four-foot shaft topped by an eighteen-inch leaf-shaped blade. Balanced perfectly in the event it needed to be thrown.

Ballista (plural - ballistae): Siege missile weapon. Basically a very large crossbow. Very similar in structure to a heliopolis. Generally fires small boulders. Can also be configured to fire flame projectiles. Range is approximately 200 yards. Also see: heliopolis

Blood channel: See fuller

Boss: Metal "bowl" set in the center of a shield to strengthen the shield and protect the soldier's paw.

Caltrop: A sort of trap. Four-pointed spike device that is designed to always present a spike upward.

Corseca: Polearm. Commonly known as a spetum. Long-bladed spear with two smaller blades projecting at approximately 20-degree angles to either side. Used for both stabbing and slashing. High Templar corsecas have a seven foot shaft and a foot-long main blade, with two seven-inch blades flanking.

Cuirass: Armor for the torso.

Falchion: A heavy, single-edged sword whose tip curves up to meet the back edge instead of tapering. Sharpened on only one side. Mainly used in a chopping fashion. Weight and sturdiness of the blade allows the user to deal out terrifc traumatic damage. Falchions used by the Dervaga have a hilt long enough for the Dervaga to grip it with two paws.

Fauld: Armor for the lower torso and upper legs.

Fuller: "Valley" formed into the length of sword to reduce weight. Sometimes called "blood channel."

Glaive: Poleam. Consists of a shaft with a long, slightly-curving, single-edged blade. A well-known example of a glaive is the Japanese naginata. Glaives used by the Praetorians are seven feet long, two feet of which are taken up by the recurved blade.

Greave: Armor for the lower leg.

Halberd: Polearm. A heavy spear that has a axe blade attached beneath the spearhead.

Heliopolis (plural - heliopoli): Siege missile weapon. Basically a very large crossbow. Very similar in structure to a ballista. Fires bolts over six feet long. Projectiles range from fire heads to steel penetrators to even iron splinter shots. Nominal range of 250 yards. Also see: ballista

Lame: Armoring term. Describes a strip of metal or fabric that is joined to other strips to form articulated armor.

Mechbow: "Mechanized crossbow." Highly mechanized crossbow used by Pathfinders. A dual-pump action readies bowstring while simultaneously drawing up a bolt from a 8-bolt spring-action magazine. Using manual cocking, the mechbow can be configured into "sniper" mode. Regular mode range is approximately 75 yards, while sniper fire is almost 250. Highly accurate in both modes.

Pauldron: Armor for the shoulder joint. Some pauldrons also protect the upper arm, negating the need for a rerebrace. Also see: rerebrace.

Praemitar: "Praetorian scimitar". Unique sword to the Bladestone Crimson Guard. Razor sharp only along the forward edge of the sword. Blade is very minutely curved and thickens towards the top: forward edge curves up to a sharp point instead of tapering like a normal sword. Upturned curve meant to keep the entire length of the sword sharpened. The middle of the blade has a decorative crest along the back edge. Fullered along the back edge of the blade. Blade is 32 inches long and hilt is 24. Praetorians wield the weapon in a two-pawed stance, one paw under the guard and one above the pommel. Blade is swung in quick, circular, whirling strikes.

Pike: Polearm. Basically a long spear. Usually fifteen or more feet long.

Pile-head: Arrowhead. Thin, needle-pointed arrowhead designed to defeat armor.

Ricasso: Unsharpened edge of a sword immediately above the guard.

Rerebrace: Armor for the upper arm.

Tower shield: Tall, rectangular shield. Commonly made of plywood. The shields feature steel bosses and edgings, making them strong yet light.Templar tower shields are five feet by two feet, and are slightly curved towards the back edge. Templars use tower shields both defensively and offensively.

Trebuchet: Siege Missile Weapon. Critical parts include the shaft, counterweight, sling, latch, and axle. A projectile is loaded unto the swing, and the latch is released, allowing the counterwight to swing down and sling the shaft up and forward on the axle. Projectile is released when proper velocity is attained. Projecticles vary greatly. Range exceeds 300 yards.

Vambrace: Armor for the forearm. A vambrace specifically designed for protecting archers' arms from a bowstring is called a bracer.

* * *

**BLADESTONE FORCES  
**  
High Templar: Warrior in the Crimson Guard. Highly trained and excellently equipped. High Templars are usually employed as heavy cavalry, but also fill the role of fast-reaction or shock troops, and are the last line of defense of Bladestone Castle. Primarily rely on corsecas and paw-and-a-half swords. Distinguished by their double-crested helmets and red waist sash. There are about five hundred High Templars. 

Pathfinder: Elite Templar soldier. Act as advance scouts, commandos, trackers, and snipers. Almost never wear armor beyond layered leather jerkins. Use long hunting knives and mechbows.

Praetorian: Highest in the hierarchy of Crimson Guard. Praetorians are directly responsible for the defense of Bladestone Castle's interior and the Bladestone Lord him/herself. Usually equip praemitars and glaives. Distinguished by triple-crested helmets and crimson shoulder sashes. There are approximately eighty praetorians.

Templar: Basic Bladestone soldier. Very well trained and well equiped. Heavily armored with articulated plate and metal-edged and -bossed plywood tower shields. Primarily use assegais as main weapons and short swords as secondaries. Some Templar battalions use six-foot hollow-steel longbows.

Wraith: Psionically-gifted warriors of Bladestone Castle. Well-trained and very skilled. "Wraith" originates from the Wraiths' unique ability to go into "wraith" form, allowing them to pass through solid objects, or vice versa. Wraiths furnish their own weapons. Wraiths are the only ones who can utilize wraithstone fully.

* * *

**MILITARY TERMS  
**  
Battalion: Military unit. Made up of 5 companies, or about 600 beasts. Commanded by a major. 

Brigade: Military unit. Made up of 3 regiments, or about 5,400 beasts. Led by a brigadier general.

Cent: Slang term for centurion.

Century: Military Unit. Employed by High Templars and Praetorians. High Templar centuries numbers twenty-five soldiers, while Praetorian centuries contain five. Commanded by a centurion.

CO: Acronymn for commanding "officer."

Cohort: Military Unit. Employed by High Templars and Praetorians. Contains two centuries. High Templar cohorts number fifty, while Praetorian centuries contain ten. Commanded by a tribune.

Company: Military unit. Made up of 4 platoons, or about 120 beasts. Led by a captain.

Division: Military unit. Made up of 2 brigades, or about 10,800 beasts. Commanded by a general or higher.

Executive Officer: Second highest officer in units company or larger.

FUBAR: Slang acronym for "fcked up beyond all recognition."

L-T: Slang term for lieutenant.

Legion: Military Unit. Employed by High Templars and Praetorians. Contains two cohorts. High Templar legions hold one hundred soldiers, while Praetorian legions contain twenty. Commanded by a praetorian.

Magpil: Slang term for magna pilus.

NCO: Noncommissioned officer. Denotes corporal or sergeant type officers. NCOs are not warranted a salute from lower ranks.

Noncom: See NCO

Platoon: Military unit. Made up of 3 squads, or about 30 beasts. Commanded by a lieutenant.

Pripil: Slang term for pilus prior.

Regiment: Military unit. Made up of 3 battalions, or about 1,800 beasts. Led by a colonel.

'Runner: Slang term for the dustrunner cavalry bird.

S-1: Officer in charge of personnel.

S-2: Officer in charge of intelligence and reconnaissance.

S-3: Officer in charge of operations and procedures.

S-4: Officer in charge of supplies and logistics.

Smaj: Slang term for sergeant major.

SNAFU: Slang acronym for "situation normal, all fcked up."

Squad: Military unit. Made up of 10 beasts. Commanded by a staff sergeant

Sumpil: Slang term for suma pilus.

TARFU(N): Slang acronymn for "things are really fcked up (now)."

Top: Slang term for highest-ranking sergeant in a unit.

XO: See Executive officer

* * *

**MISCELLANEOUS  
**  
Damascene: a descriptor for beautiful, high-quality steel. Because of impurities in the ore and blacksmith skill, damascene steel has a pattern on it remniscent of water waves. 

Dustrunner: Heavy cavalry bird of the High Templars. Though able to fly, the dustrunner usually runs. Very large and powerful for a bird. Nearly eight feet long from beak to tailtip. Originally from the western continent. Imported by Wraithlord. Is a variation of the roadrunner bird.

Wraithcomm: Wraithstone communication artifact. Utilizes an unexplained property of Wraithstone. Allows a wraithcomm user to communicate instaneously with other wraithcomm user(s). Can be used to directly and privately converse, or can use wide-band color coded "frequencies". Normally take the form of a bracelet with an inch-diameter wraithstone in the middle. Standard equipment for officers, senior noncommisioned officers, Wraiths, and Pathfinders.

Wraithstone: Kavazaran name for special psi-sensitive stones. Ruby-red in color, and semitransparent. Wraithstones are essential to the creation of wraithcomms. Harder than steel when at normal temperature, but as easy to work with as steel at higher temperatures. When mixed with weapons metal, it makes the weapon nearly unbreakable.

Unseen: Term for eastern stealth assassins.


	2. Dramatis Personae

**_PRIDE OF KAVAZARA_**

By

Gregory P. Wong

* * *

**Dramatis Personae**

* * *

**BLADESTONE / NEW KAVAZARA**

Name: Tigron Sandstar  
Species: Sand marten male  
Designation: Wraith Lieutenant  
Notes: Wields Dawn (longsword) and Dusk (scythe).

Name: Raezel Snowdance  
Species: Snow fox female  
Designation: Wraith Lieutenant  
Notes: Wields Frost (dual-bladed sickle staff)

Name: Tritan Longspear  
Species: Rat male  
Designation: Wraith Grand Marshal  
Notes: Wields Shadowrend (spear); Lord of New Kavazara; husband of Serai

Name: Serai Galecut  
Species: Rat female  
Designation: Wraith Arbiter  
Notes: Wields Mist and Rain (long daggers); Lady of New Kavazara; wife of Tritan

Name: Rid Razorfang  
Species: Wildcat male  
Designation: Templar War Marshal  
Notes: Wields Rocksunder (greatsword); very strong and agile

Name: Veetyr Crossback  
Species: Stoat female  
Designation: Praetorian Centurion  
Notes: Wife of Blindsight

Name: Blindsight (formerly: Tadochi)  
Species: Stoat male  
Designation: Wraith Captain  
Notes: Wields Fade (Eastern straight saber) and Unseen gear; trained as an Unseen; husband of Veetyr

Name: Kleea Silverstorm  
Species: Weasel female  
Designation: Wraith Major  
Notes: Wields Stormcaller(s) (dual three-bladed wrist blades)

Name: Slydant  
Species: Fox male  
Designation: High Templar Praetor

Name: Tred  
Species: Rat male  
Designation: Templar (Pathfinder) Sergeant

Name: Zine Trueblade  
Species: Weasel male  
Designation: Wraith Captain  
Notes: Wields Heartseeker (long rapier); hopeless female-chaser

Name: Felgara Whipclaw  
Species: Ferret female  
Designation: Wraith Captain  
Notes: Wields Windtear (warchain)

Name: Herin Flickerfist  
Species: Weasel male  
Designation: Wraith Major  
Notes: Wields Glimmer (broadsword)

Name: Elvop  
Species: Pine marten male  
Designation: Templar Captain (Echo Company, 125th Line Battalion)

Name: Caerev  
Species: Weasel female  
Designation: Templar Captain (Bravo Company, 242nd Archery Battalion)

Name: Suranto Hammerpaw  
Species: Rat male  
Designation: Templar Captain (Alpha Company, 124th Line Battalion)

Name: Diis  
Species: Stoat female  
Designation: High Templar Tribune (Kappa Cohort)

Name: Blikot  
Species: Rat male  
Designation: Pathfinder Sergeant Major

* * *

**REDWALL**

Name: Vivian  
Species: Mouse female  
Designation: Abbess of Redwall

Name: Wallace  
Species: Mouse male  
Designation: Warrior of Redwall  
Note: Wields the sword of Martin the Warrior (paw-and-a-half sword)

Name: Winopal  
Species: Otter female  
Designation: Otter Warrior

Name: Audrin  
Species: Bank vole male  
Designation: Recorder of Redwall

Name: Minerva  
Species: Badger female  
Designation: Mother of Redwall

Name: Danforth Bouncefoot Fangleton Townes  
Species: Hare male  
Designation: Redwall hare fighter  
Notes: Uses lance and saber

Name: Leena  
Species: Harvest mouse female  
Designation: Infirmary assistant  
Notes: Very skilled with the saber

Name: Treamyst  
Species: Squirrel female  
Designation: Assistant gatekeeper  
Notes: Skilled with otter (dual-ended) javelin

* * *

**MOSSFLOWER and SALAMANDASTRON**

Name: Felblade  
Species: Badger male  
Designation: Badger Lord of Salamandastron  
Notes: Wields personalized halberd

Name: Lucio  
Species: Hare male  
Designation: Long Patrol Colonel  
Notes: Excellent saber-fighter and bowbeast; experienced campaigner

Name: Grimtooth  
Species: Stoat male  
Designation: Horde Chief  
Notes: Wields a ceremonial, functional battleaxe; very large and strong for a stoat

Name: Tanth  
Species: Ferret male  
Designation: Senior Officer  
Notes: Adept with the long rapier

Name: Veredia  
Species: Ferret female  
Designation: Personal slave of Grutor  
Notes: Skilled with bow and batons; abused horribly by Grutor

Name: Keruki  
Species: Kangaroo rat female  
Designation: Unseen  
Notes: Wields Nightwhisper (chain-sickle); immigrated from the eastern islands; trained as an Unseen

* * *

**SOUTHSWARD**

Name: Malcan Oakrune  
Species: Squirrel male  
Designation: King of Southsward; Lord of Castle Floret  
Notes: Skilled with broadsword; husband of Malaya

Name: Malaya Oakrune  
Species: Squirrel female Designation: Queen of Southsward; Lady of Castle Floret  
Notes: Wields Skyfire (short rapier); wife of Malcan; one-time companion of Riala Goldentail

Name: Canaya Oakrune  
Species: Squirrel female  
Designation: Princess of Southsward; Mistress of Castle Floret  
Notes: Daughter of Malcan and Malaya

Name: Brookrudd  
Species: Otter male  
Designation: Captain of Castle Floret

* * *

**OTHER**

Name: Nightalon  
Species: Raven male  
Designation: King of Phoenix Eyrie

Name: Steelwing  
Species: Raven female  
Designation: Pinionmaster

Name: Kiern  
Species: Stoat male  
Designation: Nighthunt Chieftain  
Notes: Very adept with the saber; mate of Astarte

Name: Astarte Darkmoon  
Species: Stoat female  
Designation: Nightclaw Captain  
Notes: Very adept with the saber; mate of Kiern

Name: Loamstar Lothame  
Species: Fox female  
Designation: Nighteye Subcaptain  
Notes: Skilled with the glaive; brother of Bladefall

Name: Bloodmoon  
Species: Fox female  
Designation: Nightclaw Subcaptain  
Notes: Skilled with the scimitar; seer, mate of Bladefall

Name: Swiftblade  
Species: Ferret male  
Designation: Nightfang Captain Notes: Skilled knife-thrower

Name: Bladefall Lothame  
Species: Fox male  
Designation: Nightblood Captain  
Notes: Excellent knife-fighter; brother of Loamstar; mate of Bloodmoon

* * *

**DERVAGA**

Name: Anukronis  
Species: Dire wolf-form Dervaga male  
Designation: Overlord  
Notes: Wields Deathculler (longsword)

Name: Nepskya  
Species: Sabercat-form  
Dervaga female  
Designation: Overlord  
Notes: Wields Lifestealer (twin-headed spear)

Name: Hermaset  
Species: Jackal-form Dervaga male  
Designation: Underlord  
Notes: Wields Virulence (spear)

Tsarmina (Wildcat)  
Verdauga (Wildcat)  
Fortunata (Vixen)

Badrang (Stoat)  
Tramun Clogg (Stoat)  
Skalrag (Fox)

Ferragho (Weasel)  
Dethbrush (Fox)  
Klitch (Weasel)

Swartt (Ferret)  
Zigu (Ferret)  
Nightshade (Vixen)

Gabool (Rat)  
Flogga (Rat)  
Greypatch (Rat)

Urgan Nagru (fox)  
Silvamord (fox)  
Bluebane (rat)

Krakulat (crow)  
Bonebeak (female crow)


	3. Prologue: Exodus

**_PRIDE OF KAVAZARA_**

By

Gregory P. Wong

* * *

**Prologue: Exodus**

* * *

It was long ago, even before the invasion of Cluny the Scourge, that a great fleet of ships set sail from the far Western continent to cross the great sea. A great flotilla, it included eight great battleships, two dozen lesser warcraft, ten supply craft, and thirty personnel transports, not to mention innumerable civilian transports. All of the warships were crewed by the most fearsome of warriors and soldiers. And, at the head of the flagship _Hallowed Sword_, stood the ferret Dritongeru Wraithlord, master and lord of the Kavazaran. 

The Kavazaran empire had been indeed huge, but not once had it shown aggression to any of its weaker neighbors. However, once anybeast had dared to injure its citizens, the Kavazaran realm reacted with a power that was at once both awesome to behold and terrifying to witness. The Kavazaran Templars had cut through all opposition with their superior equipment and training, flanked by the Wraiths, warriors who could read minds and catch arrows with their bare paws. Warriors who could allow a weapon to pass through their bodies as if they were made of smoke. Warriors who could walk through walls. Warriors who could survive damage that would kill any other beast. Dritongeru, as his name implied, was a Wraith himself.

Wraithlord was tall and noble. A cloak of deep crimson fell over his shoulders, concealing a muscular frame and a deadly long rapier. He was a dauntless leader, a fearsome warrior, a wily strategist, a virtuous ruler, a wise judge, and a loving father to his two adopted children.

He was the perfect model of a perfect empire.

However, Kavazara met its match in the Dervaga. Hideous... monsters, they had attacked without mercy, butchering any beast who stood in their way.

Tens of thousands murdered... and _devoured_.

The mighty Kavazaran army had met them head on, and the fighting was long and brutal. In the end, Wraithlord and his forces had won through—barely—but now he and his people were possession of a poisoned land. The Dervaga were vengeful losers.

And the surviving Dervaga and their lord had abandoned their own territories and made for the east, over the ocean.

And there was nothing Wraithlord and his subjects could do. They would die.

But, Wraithlord's kindness came full circle. The neighboring territories had rushed to aid the fading realm, remembering the Kavazara's good will.

And thus, Emperor Dritongeru Wraithlord had found himself leading his people into the east, towards places unknown.

The fleet had ruthlessly hunted down pirate vessels, summarily executing the leaders and marooning the crewbeasts on habitable islands and giving the former slaves the captured ships. He was surprised by their reactions. In these waters, weasels, stoats, and the like were regarded as "vermin", as "bad creatures."

He knew he was not "bad", that his subjects were not "vermin", and he was more than happy to show the poor, wretched creatures that there _were_ "good vermin" in the world.

Finally, the fleet had completed its arduous journey, landing in the far north of the eastern continent. The former emperor had released the ships into the capable paws of his naval leaders, trusting them to their own dreams and fates. And Wraithlord had trekked inland, deep into deserts and ice fields, to found a new home.

He had growled when his scouts had discovered that the Dervaga had infested the far northland ice mountains.

And thus the construction of Bladestone Castle began.

After ten seasons of hard labor, where even the lord of fallen Kavazara helped with his own brawn, the Bladestone citadel was erected.

It was massive and set in an unorthodox shape. Pointing directly north, the sword-shaped castle seemed to be aiming a deadly weapon at the heart of the Dervaga's realm. The walls reached nearly a quarter-mile longitudinally, and they were all over thirty feet high. Sheltered inside the four-pointed walls, the main structure rose like a monolith. The town where the civilians dwelled lay south of the main castle, and a small "military town" resided within the walls. Some adventurous souls had even set off to colonize the outlying lands.

Wraithlord had known his castle was not perfect, that it would never hold forever. Yet, he knew that it was the best he could give to his subjects. He had felt his body beginning to flag. Though Wraiths had an immense lifespan—at least 250 seasons—and a gift of near "eternal youth", they were nowhere near immortal. Death, either from age or from enemy steel, still touched them. And Wraithlord had been the oldest Wraith ever known.

And four seasons later, at the age of three hundred and forty-seven seasons, Dritongeru Wraithlord died in peace, knowing that he had provided his people with a safe haven.

* * *

Many, many seasons passed, and Bladestone still awaited the day the Dervaga would make their bid for total conquest of the area. Lady Ferna Sunear was readying herself for yet another transition... one that would lead her to a more restful night, she hoped. 

She drew her broadsword and used it as an impromptu mirror, looking at her reflection. A well-aging weasel stared back at her. With a sad smile Sunear put the weapon back in its sheath. Vell had loved that face so much...

Sunear was grooming her current Arbiter—it had been three sad seasons since her beloved Vell had gone to Dark Forest—Tritan Longspear, a tall, auburn-furred rat, to take the helm of Bladestone when she died. He was a good beast, honorable, brave, and intelligent, though he did not possess the vitality the Lord Wraithlord had been said to possess.

Then again, she wasn't sure _anybeast_ did.

She looked down from the battlements, watching the Bladestone warriors training.

The lifeblood of the Bladestone forces, the Kavazaran Templars, were practicing group formations. Well, at least some of them; the Templar ranks were nearly ten thousand strong.

Sunear was sure she recognized the phalanx formation, where the soldiers would advance with their 60- inch-tall tower shields and assegais—66-inch, long-bladed, close-quarter battle spears— lowered, moving like an unstoppable wall. She grinned.

Each and every Templar, from the day he or she started as a lowly private, undertook intensive physical conditioning, as well as unarmed and armed combat training. However, as individually skilled as each Templar was, they shined not as warriors, but as _soldiers_.

They didn't fight as a collection of individuals, but rather as _a_ single individual. They covered each other's blind spots, aided each other in achieving an objective, and helped the wounded.

In short, they _fought_ together.

And that was simply a huge step up from an uncontrolled band of warriors. Even outnumbered against superiorly skilled troops, their coordination _always_ won through.

It was simple to see why Kavazara had been the strongest realm for so long...

...Until the Dervaga.

Sunear shook her head and caught a glimpse of a unit of elite Templars practicing tracking over in the northern forests. The Pathfinders were expert scouts, trackers, commandos, spies, and marksbeasts with their powerful crossbows. The Pathfinders were only two companies—about 240 individuals—strong.

The Templars followed an orthodox chain of command, from private to general, terminating at the war marshal, who answered directly to her.

Passing her gaze to other sections of the enclosed area, she also noticed that a cohort of Crimson Guard High Templars was also training, executing a complex infantry/cavalry maneuver.

Crimson Guard High Templars were a different story entirely. The High Templars were both Bladestone's cavalry contingent and elite field warriors. They only numbered about 500, plus officers, and their dark crimson cloaks and waist sashes showed their direct allegiance to Bladestone's lord. While they also fought as a unit, they focused on their intense personal skills rather than the nigh unbreakable formations of the Templars.

When deployed on their dustrunner attack birds—a type of "roadrunner" originally found in the western continent—High Templars became a powerful, fast moving, morale-breaking, shock force. Of course, High Templars were just as deadly on foopaws. In that circumstance they mobilized as vanguard, reaction, and shock troops. High Templar weapons, eight-foot corsecas and 55-inch paw-and-a-half swords, were excellent when on birdback or on footpaws.

In any case, High Templars were deadly when on footpaws or on a dustrunner.

And, of course, the Crimson Guard Praetorians could not be forgotten. More prestigious than the already prestigious High Templars, Praetorians were _directly_ responsible for the safety of the Bladestone ruler and the castle. She looked behind her at the silent, elaborately armored Praetorians NCOs shadowing her. One visitor to the castle had made the comment that the Praetorians looked strictly ornamental. She had disabused him of the notion by giving him a sword and letting him try to hit the guard. The blade had ended up forced into the ground in a split second; if the traveling hedgehog had been an enemy, he would have been dead so quickly it would have amazed him even from Dark Forest.

The personal bodyguards _had_ to be highly trained, after all.

Like High Templars, their style leaned more towards personal skill, but Praetorians were deadly when fighting in a group.

As soldiers.

The Praetorians were few in number; no more than eighty warriors stood in their ranks, and there were even fewer officers. In recent times, there had never been any reason for Praetorians to take to the field, but she knew if it ever happened, the fields would be literally covered with the bodies of foes.

Both High Templars and Praetorians had a slightly different chain of command, terminating at the Crimson Guard Arbiter, which was currently Longspear, who had been preceded by Vell.

Lastly, of course, there were the Wraiths. Numbers were constantly in flux, but there were usually thirty of them, and they, of the four military branches, were the most individualistic.

Albeit highly trained and deadly individualists.

Each Wraith was psionically gifted, meaning their internal "mind-powers" were high enough to transfer to their _physical_ abilities. The higher the psionic signature, the stronger, faster, etc, that beast became.

And what other abilities came with that psychic threshold! Limited telepathy, limited empathy, heightened perception... and, most astonishingly, the ability to enter a "wraith" form that rendered their bodies no more substantial than smoke.

They followed an identical command structure, though all Wraiths were at least lieutenant or higher, and they answered to the same war marshal the Templars were led by.

She sighed, and watched the Bladestone warriors train.

It would only be a matter of time before that training was needed...

...When the darkness left its icy cage and came for the south.


	4. Chapter 1: Summons

**_PRIDE OF KAVAZARA_**

By

Gregory P. Wong

* * *

**Chapter One: Summons**

* * *

Lord Tritan Longspear, forth ruler of Bladestone Castle and New Kavazara, looked over the battlements towards the north. The icy mountains of the far north glimmered, a stark contrast to the burning deserts leading up to the castle. A mere two miles or so away from the castle the scorching desert gave way to lush grasslands. Hills dotted the east and west plains. The morning sun warmed his left flank.

He turned as a strong yet delicate paw massaged his shoulder. He turned to face his dark-furred ratwife, Lady Serai Galecut.

Beautiful as usual. She was clad in a long sleeveless tunic that fell to just above her knees, colored a dark gray, her personal color, with a wide crimson strip running from left shoulder to right hip.. The tunic also held crimson runic inscriptions and piping that denoted her position as Lady of Bladestone and Arbiter of the Crimson Guard. The garment was tied by loops of red yarn along the left side. A gray-dyed eelskin belt cinched the tunic at her waist, where two scabbards containing twin long daggers rested. A hooded cloak was fastened over her shoulders, thrown back so it flowed like a cape. It was a Wraith cloak, meaning it was also double sided. The side that currently faced "out" was a deep gray tastefully decorated with crimson bands. The other side was a mottled camouflage pattern. The section of tunic that fell past her belt was slit along the sides. She always said that they made sure her movements were not impeded, but he always suspected that she just did it to keep his mind from becoming too engrossed in his duty. She did have some undergarments, though, so he knew she didn't want him distracted to _that_ degree.

Most of the time, that is.

"Good morning, my wife," he said to her.

"You too, Tritan," Serai replied. She strode up beside him and took his paws in hers. "You peer off into the mountains too often."

He grasped his wife's paws tighter. "It's only a matter of time before the Dervaga make their move," he murmured.

"And the Bladestone soldiers will be there to meet them!"

He looked deep into his wife's eyes. "So true, Serai. It's just..." he paused, lost for words. "It's just that I don't know if we'll be enough. I'm sensing enormous amounts of dark energy emanating from the north, stronger than anything we've ever faced. I'll hazard a guess that strong warlords from this region are being resurrected."

Serai released his paw and leaned on the battlement wall. He absentmindedly rubbed his auburn fur. He wore garb different from his wife's: a decorated short-sleeved gold-hemmed crimson tunic that reached to his waist and was tied on the right side with gold, a scarlet belt, and long crimson pantaloons flecked with gold. His cloak was similar, crimson with gold bands. He didn't carry his personal weapon with him, since he had his wife—what a thought!—guarding him, and the eight-foot tall spear Shadowrend was too unwieldy to stroll around with.

"Who can we send?"

"I don't know," he answered.

In truth, he _didn_'_t_ know. The strongholds to the south, including Salamandastron and Floret Castle, needed to be warned. But those places were strong places, under the command of skilled warriors. It was Redwall that needed protection. In fact, it was _imperative_ that Redwall be defended. It held the key to stopping the Dervaga.

If the legends were true.

But how to go about that? The far northlands, including Bladestone Castle, were largely inhabited by creatures that were commonly referred to as "vermin." Even though every single beast under his command was good and loyal, it would not play well with the denizens of the south. That's why he and his predecessors had always avoided contact with them. He doubted the Redwallers and southerners would welcome beasts commonly associated with evil deeds into their abodes.

Still, though, somebeast—or beast_s_—needed to be dispatched. Who?

"I will go," Serai said. Like other Wraiths, she had a limited power of mind-reading.

He shook his head and grinned.

"You know I won't approve of that, love."

She cocked a brow good naturedly and wiggled her whiskers. "Why is that?

He grinned wider. "First, I'll need your skill and advice _right here_, my dear Arbiter. I'll sleep better knowing that my Crimson Guard is under your command." It was an age-old custom for the Crimson Guard to be led by the current leader's spouse, whether the lord be a female or male. "Secondly, we'll need good trackers and survivalists to navigate. You and I are lacking in that respect."

His wife sighed. "I know, Tritan, I know. I'm just anxious, that's all.

He shook his head. "Aren't we all?"

"To some extent," whispered his wife.

Then something came to his mind. He knew of two Wraiths, relatively inexperienced in open war, but knowledgeable about tracking and stealth. And they were excellent at individual fighting.

And they had... they had nothing to lose.

"Them? It's not a bad choice," Serai said, obviously skimming his mind. "Actually, I was going to recommend them. They're young, but they are experienced in unorthodox ways.

He knew that she was telling the truth on both counts. He smiled.

"I suppose. I'll send a dispatch to them. Let us go to the council chamber."

* * *

The sand marten Tigron Sandstar sat cross-legged on the short grass surrounding the castle, the imposing fortress enveloping him in its shade. He took a brief glance at his light brown fur, marked only by the passage of nineteen seasons, shining glossily. He rolled his muscular shoulders a bit to loosen them up a bit.

He closed his eyes gently and rested his paws on his knees, breathing in the air and spirit of the northlands. He breathed in and out, coming into harmony with the environment. In this peaceful state, he contemplated his life. He smiled inwardly as he thought of somebeast. She would be _out of her mind_ if she tried meditating.

Because there was not enough _action_ for her!

He opened his eyes and got to his footpaws. Last time he checked, he was a little more than, what? Six feet? Right. About six-two.

He dusted off his dark brown cloak. The structure of his clothing differed only slightly from that of every other Wraith, including the Bladestone Lord, but it was far less decorated and his personal colors were not that of the Bladestone lord. His tunic was a light tan crossed with a wide band of crimson running from his left shoulder to his right hip; his baggy cotton pantaloons were the same color, sans crimson strip. The cord binding the tunic was golden, and his sword belt and long hooded cloak were the color of dried grass. Over his tunic a cinched, gold-etched, eelskin leather belt laden with wraithstone crystals was slung across his muscular back, looped over his right shoulder all the way down to his left hip. He wriggled his shoulders a bit to settle his cloak, and turned to his left.

Stuck blades-first in the earth a few feet from him were his personal weapons, the longsword Dawn and the scythe Dusk. Dawn was a handsome weapon, the blade one yard long. It was also surprisingly light—the diamond cross-sectioned blade was almost flat, after all, and relatively thin—which let him wield the sword one-pawed, which was a must when used in conjunction with his personal fighting style. The blade was etched with crimson swirls and inscriptions in wraithstone, the mysterious crystal that flowed like steel when heated upon the forge, but hardened into a perfectly clear red gem upon cooling. Dusk was also a fine weapon; the slightly curving, perfectly carved haft was about four feet in length, with the wide, curving, sharply tapered, two-foot blade connected to one convex end of the shaft. The scythe had a steel buttgrip and counterweight to help balance the blade. Like Dawn, Dusk was decorated with wraithstone filigree.

Wraithstone also had many interesting properties. In large enough concentrations, it allowed a Wraith with a high enough psychic signature to telepathically communicate with those too distant to hear normally. It also allowed Wraiths to funnel their energy into the weapons, imbuing them with various properties that no normal weapon had.

And, in the case of Dusk, it allowed him to "clamp" the weapon to his back without the encumbrance of sheaths and fasteners. The wraithstone bandolier across his back held the scythe still as if by magic.

_Which_, he thought, _is what most people think Wraiths do_!

Chuckling to himself, he reached and plucked Dusk from the earth. With a flick of his wrist, he slapped it onto his back, blade pointed downwards. The diagonal positioning of the scythe allowed his left paw easy access to it. Dawn was put into his left-hip sheath after he had flicked the dirt from it. He took a deep breath.

_Action_!

In a flash, his right paw drew forth Dawn, its wraithstone-inlaid blade still bright even in Bladestone's shadow. He aimed a stab at an imaginary foe, carrying the backhand swing through. As he spun, his left arm, the paw loosely resting in a reverse grip upon Dusk, drew forth the scythe. With a flick that changed the position of the weapon into a normal saber grip, he spun to his right, the keen blade of Dusk rending the air as he spun. After two wind-slicing whirls, he allowed the haft of the scythe to rest on his right flank. With another flick, he returned the weapon to his back. He continued, the blades of Dawn and Dusk alternately splitting the air as he practiced.

With a frown, he psychically sensed someone striding up to him from a distance. He could _almost_ get the signature... It was...

"Lieutenant Sandstar!" came a gruff voice that he recognized instantly recognized. With a final thrust, he flipped his scythe over his cloak and the sword into its sheath.

He kept his face blank as Major Talson Slasheyes, a medium-built gray ferret with white bands on his eyes—hence, slashed-eyes—stepped up to him, clad in the dark red of Kavazara. His right paw snapped up to his left shoulder in a crisp purely-Kavazaran salute as the officer neared.

"Sir!"

Slasheyes returned the salute, adding "At ease."

He relaxed a bit.

"Practicing, I see, Lieutenant."

"Yes, sir," he replied to the ferret.

The major's mouth quirked up into a grin. "You're an excellent warrior, Lieutenant. You fit that overgrown grass-cutter perfectly."

He grinned slightly. Major Slasheyes, a non-Wraith officer, was respected by all, be they peers, subordinates, or superiors. He liked the ferret a lot. Wraith or non-Wraith, he was an incredibly skilled officer!

"Sir, this overgrown grass-cutter once belonged to Colonel Summerscythe. And with all due respect, sir, he'd hand you your tail for calling him a harvester!"

The ferret laughed. "Oh, I can see that, L-T. That old weasel was something else entirely."

The ferret officer fell silent for a moment, his grin replaced with a serious look.

"Lieutenant, Lord Longspear requests your presence."

Whoa. What would the Bladestone Lord need him for?

"Uh, if I may ask, what does he need me for, sir?"

"I really don't know, Lieutenant. From what I gather, you and some other beast have a critical assignment."

But that didn't make any sense!

"I'm the youngest Wraith here! Shouldn't he send out a more—"

Major Slasheyes silenced him with a wave of his paw. "I'm sure Lord Longspear has a reason for selecting you, Lieutenant. Let's go... he's waiting."

He shrugged. _Well_, _let_'_s just see what_'_s in store for me_...

* * *

_Thwock_!

The little bean ball that Raezel Snowdance had kicked sailed up into the air.

The snow vixen's paw shot out and nabbed the ball before it plummeted back to earth. Then the beans were up again.

A footpaw, and elbow, another elbow, a knee, her nose... up down, up down.

With one final kick that sent the toy rocketing into the sky, she somersaulted and caught the descending ball with her right footpaw. She flipped back to her feet, putting the toy away. By Dark Forest, nothing like some good fun to keep boredom at bay. Too bad not everybeast liked playing around. _Some_ beasts, like someone she knew, would rather sit back and read or meditate. Some beasts just didn't know what fun life could be... Geez.

She absentmindedly rolled the tough fabric of her cloak between her fingers.

The silvery cloak definitely matched nicely with her snow white fur, and its length was perfect for her five feet, ten inches, which was tall for her nineteen seasons. The light blue, waist-length, sleeveless tunic—which, like all other Wraith garb of Bladestone, had a crimson band running from left shoulder to right hip—gray belt, silver cording, and dual light gray shoulder weapon carriers all fit together nicely. The loose pale blue knee-length shorts that gripped around her knees just added another dash of color. Smiling to herself, she reached her paws behind her back and drew out her twin weapons. They were sturdy shafts, twenty-seven inches long, ending in wickedly sharp C-shaped sickles. The handles were wrapped in strong, treated eel leather, dyed a pale blue, except where red wraithstones graced the wrapped wood. The wide blades of the sickles also bore etched wraithstone markings.

She began to whirl with her blades, their specially crafted edges causing a low metallic whistle to sound over the sunny field. She had to be in constant motion to use these long sickles correctly.

She spun, and with a deft movement, she locked the two shafts together. Now, her twin sickles were now a single weapon, the sickle staff Frost.

The weapon was in a constant spin, the air echoing with the blades' whistles. She bent at her waist, allowing the rotating staff to pass over her back from her left paw to her right. As her right made contact, her left paw swept up and broke apart Frost. She whirled, the sickles making a whirlwind of noise.

And then she sensed someone coming. Uh-oh.

"Ahem... Lieutenant?"

With a flourish, she reached under her cloak and sealed the twin sickles to her wraithstone carriers, handles down.

"Here I am, Archon!" she called cheerfully to the crimson-garbed Crimsons Guard officer as she came into view. She snapped a salute to the rat.

Archon Keltaa saluted back, giving her the permission to drop her paw.

"How can I help you, Archon?" she asked

Archons were the second-highest ranking officers in the High Templar ranks—equivalent to a Templar general—which meant they were pretty high. Keltaa answered directly to Lord Longspear and Lady Galecut.

The Archon was a loyal servitor and a fierce fighter, but she _did_ posses a sense of humor.

Sort of.

"Lieutenant, Lady Galecut requests your presence." Whoa, red flag! Archons weren't normally—actually, almost never— messengers. "I know little, so please, do not bother asking me."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Archon. Lead the way."

Keltaa turned to go, but suddenly turned around.

"By the way, L-T, make sure you keep that bean ball stowed."

"Yes, ma'am," she replied with a smile.

_Now_, _time to see what Lord Longspear wants with me_, she thought.


	5. Chapter 2: Any Other Wraith But That One

**_PRIDE OF KAVAZARA_**

By

Gregory P. Wong

* * *

**Chapter Two: "Any Other Wraith But That One!"**

* * *

Really, now, what _was_ going on?

Tigron and Major Slasheyes saluted to three armored warriors who waited outside of the Bladestone lord's chamber. Two of the sentries stood with their unsheathed wide-bladed, long-handled Praetorian scimitars—praemitars—at paw, the unsharpened back edges resting on their shoulders; the other, standing imposingly in the middle, wielded a glaive whose blade was two feet long; the seven-foot weapon was held vertical against the guard's left shoulder. The armor that showed through the gap in their ceremonial scarlet cloaks was ornate and rugged. Well, of course rugged, since the battle armor was almost identical to his own, albeit more decorated. A crimson sash—also helpfully showing them to be Praetorians—ran from left shoulder to right hip. The triple-crested, open-faced helmets revealed cautious eyes—it was practically in the job description to have that look—but little else, since crimson scarves under the helmets concealed their features. They were all Praetorians, the elite warriors from the already-elite Crimson Guard.

The elite Crimson Guard units—the High Templars and Praetorians—followed a different ranking system. At the lowest level were the pili—the plural form of pilus—or sergeants. The pili were under the centurions, tribunes, and praetors—lieutenants, captains, and a rank in between major and colonel, respectively. Second in command of the Crimson Guard divisions were the Archons, who was in turn under the command of the Arbiter, the spouse of the Bladestone ruler.

The Crimson Guard started with sergeants as the lowest rank deliberately, since they were all experienced warriors, not rookies, and could be counted on to react properly. Though there were the occasional disputes of chain-of-command—yuck, sometimes those were farking _ugly_—the Templars, Wraiths, and Crimson Guards respected command ranks. Thus, a praetor could give orders to a Templar major, but would have to yield to a Wraith or Templar colonel.

Speaking of command officers, what was the glaive-wielder was. Joy, there was only one way to find out.

Well, here was a good opportunity. He tapped into their minds quickly. No harm in practicing... right?

The one on the left was a weasel Praetorian pilus—about the rank of a sergeant—named Corando. The other scimitar-wielder was also a pilus, but she was a vixen who went by Veka Willowpaw. And the last soldier, the one carrying the glaive was...

...Not a soldier. Geez.

He was a stoat named Zurfin, and he was a praetor! Spiderspit. Praetors were, well, high-ranking officers, something between a major and a colonel, answering directly to the Archons.

Drat. It was _easy_ to assume that something important was going on. Any officer above the rank of centurion only held sentry duty at times of dire need. Oh, yes something was definitely up.

What the heck was going on?

"Captain Slasheyes, reporting with Lieutenant Sandstar as ordered," he heard the major intone firmly.

He watched the praetor soundlessly—they were always so damned soundless—step aside from the center of the door. The two other Praetorians used their free paws to swing aside the heavy brass-studded oak door that led to Lord Longspear's council chamber.

His footpaws padding along on the stone floor, he entered after Slasheyes.

Time for some revelations.

Lord Tritan Longspear, ruler and commander of Bladestone, turned to face them. The lord and his wife had probably been staring out of a large window that faced the north. Being psychic Wraiths, beasts visiting them didn't normally have to announce their presence. Convenient, definitely.

And, despite their positions of high power, they weren't wearing fancy trappings of any kind. True, their clothing was a _bit _more ornate than the clothing _he_ wore, but Lord Longspear and Lady Galecut didn't flaunt themselves. He liked that about them.

"Hello, Major, Lieutenant."

He and Slasheyes dropped to one knee and thudded their right fists to their left shoulders. The symbolic genuflection/salute acknowledged the Bladestone lord's authority as monarch and military commander.

"Rise," Lord Longspear said simply. He did, and heard Slasheyes do the same.

The lord turned to address the major, his voice warm yet businesslike. "Thank you, Major. You are dismissed."

"Yes, Lord," replied Slasheyes. "I take my leave, Lord Longspear and Lady Galecut."

With that, the ferret strode out of the room.

Okay, now this felt a tad uncomfortable. A praetor was guarding this room, and a major was just dismissed... this was seriously odd.

"I know you are confused, Lieutenant Sandstar,"—_extremely_ confused, actually—"but we must wait for the second Wraith to arrive before we brief you," said Lady Galecut from her husband's side. "She should be coming soon."

_She_? _If_ luck was with him, he would be paired with an attractive, quiet, marten of some sort. If possible, she could be a nice pale tan, which could complement his—

And then he heard the door swing open. Hopefully the "she" was beautiful.

In stepped Archon Keltaa, commander of the Praetorians.

...Followed by Raezel Snowdance!

Well, looked like luck didn't like him.

Oh, fark.

It took all of his effort—plus some help from his calming techniques—not to groan audibly.

The snow vixen looked almost exactly the same. He and the vixen had been residents of Bladestone for, what? nearly four seasons already, and they tended to avoid each other.

He saw that her fur was still as white as snow, and her blue eyes still had an icy glint to them. The silver cloak that concealed her body couldn't hide the fact that she was still lithe and slender, or that her slight frame sported well-defined, compact muscles. And, even though he grudgingly admitted it, the female fox was still quite a beautiful creature. Under different circumstances, he might have tried a relationship with her.

If she weren't such a hyperactive, mischievous, impulsive female.

How long was it since he first met her? Eight seasons?

* * *

_"Father? How much longer do we need to stay here? I want to go home," Tigron said to his father, Terson._

_"I promised the snow foxes something, and they did the same. We're not going until we've kept the bargain."_

_"And we must honor our words because it's the right thing to do..."_

_"Exactly, son."_

_He sighed at his father's reminder and sat down on the lush grass that was the border between the northern icelands and deserts._

_Off in the distant west, he spied Bladestone Castle, the hulking stronghold of fearsome warriors and soldiers. It was so big and strong-looking!_

_But he'd never go there. What use would they have for some chubby sand marten like him? There were some times that he wished he was as big and fast and strong as his father. He was already in possession of eleven seasons... he wasn't getting any bigger—or thinner—and he wasn't getting any stronger and he wasn't—_

_"Still looking into the west, kid?" Father said to him as he ruffled his ears. "Maybe one day—"_

_"What? _Father_, I'm just some overweight youngster from nowhere. They won't like me."_

_He saw his father's smile grow a bit. "Then you're not as smart as I think you are, son. I've been to Bladestone a couple of times. Did you know that they wanted to know if we had any warriors who would be interested in serving their lord?_

_"Really?"_

_"Of course, 'really.' "_

_He tugged on his father's tunic. "Do I have a chance?"_

_"Of course you do. I'll bet you're prime Pathfinder material, son."_

_Wow! "A Pathfinder? Me?"_

_A Pathfinder? Him? Pathfinders were those super Templars._

_A Pathfinder?_

_"Sure. Just give yourself enough time to develop, and you'll be bigger than me." Father flexed his large muscles, showing the lack of fat. "I was chubbier than you at your age. And I wasn't half as good at you are at the _Sintaka_ martial art. You just need to grow into your body."_

_"Really?"_

_"Yes."_

_Father was being perfectly sincere. He knew because Father never, ever lied, and because he could tell if beasts were lying, anyway._

_His father grinned, reached down, and tousled his ears._

_"Here they come. Looks like Beltik brought someone with him."_

_He looked towards where his father was peering of into the southern distance. His father told him that the climate here was very harsh. At the southernmost part that denoted the "far northlands" was a band of desolate, frozen wasteland, a day's march in width and season's knew how long. Beyond _that_ was another band of waterless, burning desert. Luckily for travelers, after the desert there was a patch of fertile land with forests and plains, with plenty of fresh water. And unluckily for said travelers, beyond that was another band of desert, followed by one more patch of icelands that trailed far into the north; in fact, the icy plains _were_ the far northlands._

_But he and Father didn't go near the grasslands, since the snow foxes were to the south of the desert, and they couldn't see the foxes if they went _away_, could they? But yuck... they were so close to _frozen water

_By now the two cloaked figures were only a few hundred feet away. The taller one, even though his face was hidden by a scarf, he recognized from the time Father had bartered and traded._

_It was Beltik Snowdance, chieftain of a snow fox tribe that wandered the southern ice plains. They had always been allies of his father's clan, even before the respective tribes had fled Kavazara._

_The snow foxes and sand martens hadn't been native to Kavazara; they were immigrants from other lands. At the end of the exodus over the sea, Wraithlord had given them permission to go their own ways... with his blessings. Even though they were not directly under Bladestone governance, the many nomadic tribes were strong allies._

_The other figure... he couldn't make out much of him. He looked relatively tall—taller than him—though pretty skinny. Actually, skinny enough to look half-starved._

_The other fox took the scarf from his face._

_Oh, wait._

_The him was really a _her_. The wrappings had concealed her features._

_He was momentarily taken aback. She was a very pretty vixen, about his own age, tall, lithe, with piercing blue eyes that seemed to embody the frigid icelands._

_Most emphatically a_ her

_"Hello Beltik," Father said, bowing slightly in a sign of respect._

_"Hello yourself, Terson. And you too, Tigron," the snow fox said cheerfully, also making a bow. The chieftain gently nudged the vixen. "This is my daughter Raezel. I think she's only a few weeks or so younger than Tigron."_

_Father looked at the female snow fox and smiled._

_"Greetings, Raezel," Father said in greeting._

_"Hey," replied the young fox._

_He decided to say hello, too. Why not? "Hello. I'm Tigron."_

_He saw the snow vixen blink. "Hi, Tigron."_

_But then his father was back to talking with Snowdance._

_He noticed his father was grinning widely. For some reason, whenever his father spoke with the snow fox leader, he couldn't help but grin._

_Hellos aside, his father and Snowdance began to speak rapidly back and forth about trade items. Juicy cacti fruit and flowers were considered a delicacy among the snow foxes. But the feathers from snow fowl were the absolute best for fletching. So, the his tribe and theirs traded._

_But he noticed that after grouse feathers and plants, he caught the hissed words "vermin hordes."_

_"Beltik... Not with them here."_

_Then suddenly, he noticed that his father and Snowdance had stopped talking._

_Why were they looking at each other like that?_

_Snowdance shook his head, clearly upset. Then he grinned as though nothing had happened and crouched so that he faced him and the vixen._

_"Rae, how about you and Tigron go to that hill over there and talk for a little while. Tigron's father and I need to talk._

_He nodded, and he noticed the snow vixen just shrugged. He and the female set out for the hill, which was about fifty yards distant._

_" Do you go by anything else besides 'Raezel'?" he asked._

_"I also go by Rae, but only to my friends," came the answer._

_Somehow, the message _but you_'_re not my friend yet_ was implicit in the phrase._

_They walked slowly. Hmm... what to ask?_

_"Are you a fighter?" the vixen inquired._

_Weird question. "More or less. I'm decent at unarmed combat, though my father and uncle are still teaching me the longsword."_

_He noticed that he and this vixen had made their way _past_ the hill, probably out of sight of Father and Snowdance._

_"Oh, that's neat," the vixen said, her body language implying the opposite. The psyche that he scanned also held different from her words. "I'm good at paw-to-paw too, but I'm learning dual sickles."_

_Sickles. Oversized grasscutters. And there wasn't any grass on that frozen plain, anyway._

_"Nice."_

_He noticed that the snow fox female gave him a not altogether pleasant glance._

_"I don't need insults," the vixen said suddenly._

_What... "Me? You're the one!"_

_A scowl appeared on Raezel's pretty features._

_"Sure it's me, sandscratcher."_

_He bristled. "You're right, iceblinker."_

_The vixen growled._

_"Take that back!"_

_"You first."_

_"Why? You're the first one! What's wrong with sickles, _sand marten_?"_

_"They're nothing but farming tools, _snow fox_. What's wrong with a longsword?_

_Raezel snorted. "bor-ring," she said, emphasizing the word's two syllables. "Beasts who know how to use one of those are a doughnut a dozen."_

_Now should be the time to use his calming techniques._

_Or not._

_"At least it's not three dozen. All the ones that use sickles are harvesters. Stupid vixen."_

_That did it._

_He barely ducked away in time to avoid Raezel's spinning roundhouse kick._

_He backed away, and settled into a _Sintaka_ fighting stance. He stood with his legs bent, shoulder width apart, the right slightly forward. His right shoulder was a bit forward, and he was hunched over slightly. His forward arm, the right, hung down with his forearm parallel to his stomach, running horizontally. His left paw was nearly touching with his face, the forearm running diagonal towards his left hip. _Sintaka_ was primarily a close-range defensive martial art that emphasized limb-locks and motion redirection, though its wide array of strikes, including punishing knee- and elbow-strikes allowed him to attack easily._

_But Raezel the iceblinker was in unfamiliar fighting form. The good-looking female—who was actually quite angry—bounced on the balls of her footpaws, her right shoulder canted towards him. The iceblinker had her right arm held out far from her body, almost completely straight, and the left was held away from the shoulder, the paw barely brushing her ears._

_Hmm... It looked like some type of long range art. Interesting._

_He tensed up, and waited.

* * *

_

_Stupid little sand marten. Like only _farmers_ used sickles._

_Raezel bounced loosely back and forth. The sand marten—whom she had to admit was handsome in a desert dweller sort of way—was in some weird fighting stance._

_She looked it over._

_It looked weird but effective. The angle of his body would let him throw out quick elbow hits, jabs, and backfists, and the left could deliver a nasty thrusting punches and hooks. He looked flat-footpawed, though the ease in which the sandscratcher stood told her he could kick easily from his stance._

_Well, big deal. Whatever it was, it looked like it was a short distance art, probably most comfortable with defense and counters._

_Well, her _Desh'tan_ art would give him plenty to defend. _Desh'tan_ emphasized long-range strikes, usually kicks, and lightening fast movement._

_She circled the little snot, which was pretty much an accurate description, since she was a bit taller than he was. And he was fat. Hence, a snort snot._

_While she was bouncing around him, the sandscratcher was almost motionless; the only movement was him shifting to keep him facing her. Well, good._

_But something was seriously pissing her off. It had to be the sand marten's expression. He wasn't meeting her eyes and he looked like he was in a trance, his eyes seemingly focused somewhere around her stomach. Hmm..._

_She feinted left and lashed out with a right snap kick that would crunch his jaw. The sand marten smoothly brought his right arm up, deflecting her footpaw. His other arm darted to snag her leg, but she countered with a strong downward jerk that broke his hold._

_Short and blubbery, but fast. And the strength with which he nearly grabbed her leg belied his figure._

_Maybe it was that trance thing._

_She and Tigron circled again. She kept up a barrage of strikes, but Tigron blocked them all. Then, the sand marten surprised her with right arm uppercut that almost clipped her chin. She snaked backwards, countered with a twin pawed strike that would take out his eyes. _Tigron_ countered with a double crossing-arm block, his paws locking on her arms._

_This was bad. It was now painfully obvious that Tigron had been waiting for a grappling match. His paws and elbows skillfully locked down all of her attempts to break free. She was able to withdraw one limb, but as soon as she tried to get the other one out, Tigron trapped it again. Even his legs went into action, neutralizing her footpaws as she tried to break free._

_An open pawed strike slammed into the left side of her head, and she saw some blinking stars dart across her vision._

_That little..._

_She rolled with the blow. Obviously the sand marten had not expected her to fall back so much, and he stumbled. She let loose with a punishing axe kick that cracked down across his muzzle._

_They stumbled apart. She felt an ache on her jaw. Tasting coppery flavor of blood in her mouth, she spat. The spittle that plopped to the ground was pinkish. That strike from little sand-beastie must have cut the inside of her cheek on one of her teeth._

_But she had given as good as she had got. Tigron's muzzle was already developing a bruise, and his nose was bleeding slightly._

_Damned sand marten..._

_She and her opponent settled into their respective fighting stances._

_And again!_

_Her left foot dug into Tigron's stomach._

_Tigron landed a left backhand onto her jaw._

_She replied with a whirling neck chop._

_And the sand marten shot a kick into her right shin._

_And she bloodied his nose further with a side kick_

_And Tigron battered between her ears with a right overhead strike._

_And she sent a rising back kick into his jaw._

_And he sent a quick lung-emptying jab to her chest._

_And then a pair of strong paws yanked her away._

_Uh-oh._

_"_WHAT IN THE NAME OF SEASONS_!" she heard her father bellow as he spun her around._

_Strangely, she shot a look at the bruised and bloody Tigron. His father had the young sand marten firmly around the neck. He wasn't exploding like Dad, but it was clear he was way angry._

_"Rae!" Dad hissed. "What on this _earth_ possessed you to pick a fight with him?"_

_"He insulted me!" she shot back angrily. "Just because I'm taking up sickles he called me a... a... stupid farmer vixen! And he called me an iceblinker!"_

_"That's _it_?" Dad said exasperatedly. "By unholy Hellgates, young vixen! I haven't reacted to insults ten times worse than that!"_

_She looked away. She didn't really have an answer to that._

_"We'll talk about this when we get home, Raezel Snowdance," Dad said quietly, his outrage seeming to disappear. "Apologize."_

_Gripping her arm, Father led her back to Tigron and Terson. There was no sign of the sand marten leader blowing up on his son, but she guessed that Tigron was getting a good talking-to._

_Served him right._

_"I hope she'll be all right, Beltik," Sandstar said to Dad._

_"Oh, she'll be okay. Tigron looks pretty bad, though."_

_Sandstar shook his head. "Only as bad as your daughter."_

_Dad shrugged. "I suppose so."_

_She made eye contact with Tigron. She curled her upper lip into a snarl. The little twerp answered in the same way._

_Dad and Sandstar apologized to each other, which was just as well. There was no way in Hellgates she was gonna apologize to Tigron!_

_Dad dragged her away, back to camp. The bruises were only now beginning to be felt.

* * *

_

Nonononono. Not Tigron Sandstar.

Cripes.

He was very different from back then. Most significantly, he had lost the fat. Second most significantly, he was now taller than her—and she had never been called short. He was muscular too, but not overly-muscled. It was more of an attractively fit body with nice, large, hard muscles. And he was still handsome. So, in short, he hadn't changed much from when she and sandscratcher came up to Bladestone's doors. Figured. _She_ hadn't changed much either.

And he was still a boring, static, and damned near lacked a sense of fun.

All those past few seasons hadn't changed him one—

She shook her head. She didn't want to think of those past seasons. They were too painful.

Still though, she still didn't like _Lieutenant _Tigron Sandstar. But she was loyal to Lord Longspear and Lady Galecut, so she at least needed to hear what was going on.

But why was _he_ here too? Hopefully—

Longspear clearing his throat jerked her out of her thoughts.

"So, Lieutenants, I sense you're a bit... surprised to see each other."

Understatement.

"Yes, sir," she and Tigron said at the same time.

"Good," the rat lord said. "I also sense you're curious as to why I have summoned you two."

Understatement, mark two.

Longspear clasped his paws behind his back and looked out towards the north.

"The Dervaga Lord and his minions are preparing to move," said Galecut. "No doubt it's going to be a serious offensive."

Well, okay. That still didn't explain why she and sandsniffer over there were here.

"We were just getting to that, Lieutenant Snowdance," the rat lady noted dryly.

She blinked. Oops. Better get a control on her thoughts and how much she broadcasted.

Shi saw Lord Longspear turn back to face them. "Are you two familiar with Redwall Abbey?"

"I've heard a bit about it, sir, but only in passing," replied Tigron.

"Same here," she said.

The rat lord nodded. "I could go into the whole story here and now... but it would take me far too long."

She looked at the Bladestone ruler questionably.

"Suffice it to say that I need you two to travel south, to that very abbey. I need someone to get a message to them that war might touch their land."

Wha...? She stared, dumbstruck.

"The Dervaga are ready to make their move. I can't determine the strength of the force, but a force _will_ be marching from the northland mountains soon."

She shot a glance at Tigron. He looked puzzled.

"Lord?"

"Yes, Lieutenant Snowdance?"

"Why send us? I'm not aware of the full details, but I do believe reconnaissance Wraiths are in the southern regions. Why not send a message via the Wraithorb."

That sounded like a good idea. The Wraithorb was a four-foot sphere made entirely of Wraithstone. It could amplify a Wraith's thoughts and open a two-way communications between Wraiths who were too far away to communicate telepathically.

"I've already tried, Lieutenant Sandstar. I don't know how, but something seems to be blocking my psychic abilities. I can't reach the Wraiths stationed to the south."

"In any case, Lieutenants, there are three Wraiths within a day's march of Redwall, hidden," stated Lady Galecut. "Captains Zine Trueblade and Felgara Whipclaw, and Major Herin Flickerfist, male weasel, female ferret, and male weasel, respectively. They'll be needed at the abbey, too."

"Sir?" she asked. "Five Wraiths is, uh quite a bit." Understatement. "I doubt any vermin horde or bandit mob will be serious enough to warrant... that much force."

"It's not the criminals I'm worried about, Lieutenant," Lord Longspear answered softly. "I don't know what the future holds, but I want Redwall very secure in the event of... a defeat."

She heard Tigron gasp, but she was too busy gasping too. A Dervaga horde strong enough to take out Bladestone Castle? No way.

"Yes way, Lieutenant Snowdance. The power emanations coming from the northern mountains are the strongest we're ever felt. It _will_ be bad," Galecut said in clipped tones.

"And this is why it is _imperative_ that some beasts reach Redwall. Those beasts are to be you two."

But then why...

"Sir, why send both off us? You'll need all the warriors you can muster... so why send off two of them?" Sh heard Tigron query.

"_Oh_, _nice_. _You read my mind_, _didn_'_t you_?" she mindspoke to Tigron.

"_No_, _I didn_'_t_. _Shut_ _up_," the sand marten replied tersely.

"_Okay_. _Sure_. _Why not_? _Yes_, _sir_, _yes_, _sir_, _three_ _bags_ _full_."

He didn't reply. Good.

"Lieutenant Sandstar, in a matter this important, I believe in insurance. For one, you'll have to cross very punishing territory to reach the southlands. You and Lieutenant Snowdance both know how utterly harsh the southern deserts and ice fields are. You might be able to help each other in your respective environments, as well.

"That also doesn't take into account what hostile forces you might encounter," Lord Longspear continued.

"Sir!" she blurted out. "I think one of us would suffice against slavers and—"

"At _ease_, Lieutenant," barked Lady Galecut. The command wasn't especially loud, but it held a great deal of force.

Oops. Better put a lid on it. She clopped her jaw shut.

Lord Longspear waited for a few seconds. "Again, Lieutenants, I'm not worried about normal beasts. Warlords and pirates have attacked Redwall and bounced. The same could be said for you two." The last sentence was said delicately. "What I'm afraid of are Dervaga sleeper units that managed to slip past us."

_Sleeper units_?

Oh, bloody Hellgates.

Dervaga formations that managed to slip past Bladestone and into a threatened area, waiting to spearhead the way for a main horde. They were usually a lot worse than the average Dervaga.

_This_ _is_ _bad_, she thought

"And..." She watched Longspear make a face as though he had bitten into an exceedingly sour lemon. "The completion of the mission supercedes all else. If one of you becomes so incapacitated as to be immobile, the other will have to... have to abandon the fallen one and continue the mission."

What? If... No! Don't think of that...

Probably Lord Longspear saw the look in her eyes.

"I assume you're ready for this mission, Lieutenants."

"I... Yes, sir. We'll do our best," stammered Tigron. "We'll leave before dawn tomorrow."

She blinked. She really, really desperately wanted to say "_I_'_m_ _ready_ _for_ _this_ _mission_... _but pair me up with any other Wraith but that one_!"

Instead she said "I'm up to it, sir."

Which was probably the biggest lie she had ever made...

As she saluted the Bladestone lord and lady, and was dismissed, she wondered what in Hellgates she was going to do. She couldn't _stand_ Tigron!

And she knew Tigron couldn't stand _her_, either...

Oh, this was the most humongous bucket of stinking spiderspit that's ever been sloshed. Cripes.

* * *

Lady Serai Galecut shook her head as the two lieutenants left the conference room. She looked at her husband.

"I'm having second thoughts, Tritan. They bicker too much... Sandstar and Snowdance didn't do a sufficient job in masking their conversation."

The male rat just shook his head. "What's done is done. Those two are still the best candidates." Tritan's whiskers drooped. "What disturbs me the most is the last... order I had to give them."

She stepped next to her husband and put a paw on his shoulder. "It was a necessity."

"An ugly necessity," her husband spat.

She sighed and massaged his shoulder tenderly. This was one reason why she loved him so. He was unswerving in his duty, and he had excellent foresight... and sometimes had to painfully subvert his conscience to carry out his responsibility.

The anger he was displaying was not against her, or Sandstar, or Snowdance. It was against himself. Because the act was so... disturbing.

She just placed herself in front of Tritan and hugged him tightly. She felt his arms encircle her. She dug her face into his chest. She and him drew strength from each other in little moments like these.

It was moments like these that helped them deal with the madness of the Dervaga.

She heard the heavy door slide open. She and Tritan didn't release each other, but she and her husband looked and saw Praetor Zurfin salute respectfully with his glaive. The Praetorian sentries didn't have to salute in the normal fashion when on duty.

"Sir!"

"Yes, what is it, Praetor?"

"Sir, War Marshal Razorfang wishes to speak with you."

"Indeed. Give me a few moments, Praetor. Perhaps ask the war marshal to tell you about his new hobby. It'll give me some time."

"Sir?" asked Zurfin. She could hear the puzzlement in his voice.

"Never mind, Praetor. Just give me a few moments."

"Yes, sir," the praetorian acknowledged. The stoat saluted with his weapon, and turned to go.

"Praetor!" she called out right before he reached the doors.

The officer made a perfect about-face and stood at attention.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"After you grant entrance to War Marshal Razorfang, have yourself and the two pili relieved. And take the rest of the day off."

The stoat was silent for a moment. Then he bowed slightly. "Yes, ma'am."

As he walked out, she thought Zurfin had little spring in his step.

The door closed.

"That was nice of you," Tritan said with a smile.

"He's been there all morning, and this is a special assignment. The three should get some down time."

"Yes, Madame Arbiter."

She gave a little snort. At least he did have a sense of timing and humor.

"Thank you, Mister Grand Marshal."

Her husband's smile widened a bit, and he leaned down to kiss her.

"Oh, you..." she sighed a bit. "Always sweeping a poor female off her footpaws."

It was her husband's turn to snort. "Some poor female you are. Maybe if you didn't show off so much leg I wouldn't—"

It was a good sign. She and her husband were being playful, which meant they were managing to cover the pain that was prevalent in being a ruler of Bladestone.

"And you are one of the few beasts that help me deal with it," Tritan murmured.

It looks like she hadn't been masking her thoughts as well as she thought. No matter.

"Now, I think we better let go of each other, or else Rid might make some cracks."

She reluctantly let go of her husband. Well, there would be always other times to hold each other close... when they were alone. And under the sheets. And... hmm...

Even though she and Tritan were over one hundred-thirty seasons, they were still looked and felt "young." In plenty of different ways, too.

"Okay," she said. "And wipe that grin from you face, Tritan."

"Yes, ma'am."

She laughed one last time as the door opened to admit War Marshal Rid Razorfang.

* * *

"Good morning, Rid," Tritan said to the walking... mountain.

Rid Razorfang was a gray-furred, amber-eyed wildcat... at least that what the war marshal said. Tritan would bet his spear to a toeclaw clipping that Rid had some lynx or bobcat somewhere in his family tree. He was huge! He was at _least_ seven feet tall, and broad to match. In fact, Rid was so wide that he looked squat. But that wideness held no fat; it was completely muscle. All that muscle was the only way he could manage the greatsword Rocksunder, what with its six-foot, wide-headed blade.

The wildcat saluted, genuflecting and slamming a massive paw to his shoulder.

"Aye, gud mornin' tae yew tew, Tritan, old friend," replied the war marshal cheerfully. He couldn't help but smile as Rid rose from his knee, strode—gracefully, despite his hugeness—over to his wife, dropped to his knees, took Serai's left paw in his, and kissed it. "Ahnd gud mornin' tae yew, milady."

"Ahnd gud mornin' tae yew, tew, Rid," his wife said with an amused grin on her face, imitating his accent. Rid laughed uproariously.

He and Serai had been on a first-name basis with the gigantic officer for a long, long time. His thick accent told of his roots from the southern ranges—what southern beasts would call the "northern highlands"—with its tendency to slightly roll "r" sounds and mispronounce "o". Rid Razorfang had immigrated north some forty seasons ago, and the wildcat had risen extremely quickly through the ranks under Ferna Sunear, Tritan's predecessor, and then under Tritan himself.

And, perhaps most interestingly, it seemed Rid had the longevity and youthfulness usually reserved to Wraiths. The war marshal didn't show any other characteristics of Wraiths, except for impossible strength and speed that _any_ wildcat—perhaps helpfully mixed with a lynx—could have. It didn't matter, really.

Rid, despite his jovial nature, was a fierce warrior and a cunning tactician. It was only natural that he bestow upon the wildcat the position of war marshal, the second-highest commander—after the Bladestone Lord, of course—of the Templars and Wraiths.

"Aye, yew're as bewtiful as evah, milady. Oh, is m' humor tew much?"

He just shook his head. His wife was rolling her eyes and doing her best not to giggle. And, of course, Rid was playing it along. The wildcat was a shameless flatterer of his wife.

Well, Rid's antics were amusing, to say the least.

He shook his head, smiling. By now, the war marshal had entered a more serious mode.

"Well, Rid, to what do I owe your presence?"

"Tha bluddy Dervaga, Tritan. One o' m' Pathfinders met up with wone of King Nightalon's long-range scowts. It turns aout the Dervaga are churnin' out bluddy _burds_ naow, Tritan."

He frowned and looked at Rid. "Birds?"

"Aye."

"Hellgates and damnation," spat his wife. "More surprises."

"No kidding," he whispered. His voice rose to a more normal tone. "Rid, deploy some teams of Pathfinders to keep a watch to the east and west. The Dervaga are going to try and slip past us." He growled a bit. "They're pulling out all the stops."

"Ach, okay," responded the wildcat. "Ah'll also dubble the longbow patroles on th' battlement. Shood Ah start deployin' tha siege weapons?"

He shook his head in negation. "No. If there are bird scouts... no. We want to keep those hidden until the last minute.

"Okay, Tritan. Ah'll get to work naow."

"Keep well, friend."

Rid bowed saluted, and repeated his ritual with Serai. Then, bowing deeply, the wildcat strode up to the door, gave a quick knock, and exited as it opened, a smoothly walking mountain.

As the door closed, he saw his wife look at him and cock her eyebrow.

Of course. He knew what she was thinking of.

"Tritan, what _exactly_ is that new hobby Rid picked up? The one you told Zurfin about."

He grinned. "Oh, I haven't the faintest idea. I just knew he would have one."

He and his wife laughed.


	6. Chapter 3: Ominous Signs

**_PRIDE OF KAVAZARA_**

By

Gregory P. Wong

* * *

**Chapter Three: Ominous Signs**

* * *

Diary of Brother Audrin Bankvole, Redwall Abbey Recorder.

_My name is Audrin, and this is my seventh season as Abbey Recorder, ever since old Josiah passed to Dark Forest. I'm happy to say life here at Redwall is still mostly pleasant and prosperous. The Winter of the Three-Star Leaf is only just now beginning, and the harvests were plentiful. All beasts are still happy under Abbess Vivian, successor to the late Abbess Rosemary. With winter setting its cold claws into the grounds, there is not much anybeast can do, except eat, sleep, and play._

_And, in my case, write endlessly._

_However, we Redwallers are still painfully aware of what a meager winter can bring. No doubt vermin bands will make a show before our walls exhorting for food or nonexistent treasure. Fortunately, we learned our lessons after the—thankfully long-ago!—escapades with the ferret Kurda, the corsair Plugg Firetail, and the searat Raga Bol. At those times, no true warriors walked Redwall's grounds, and we were nearly defenseless but for quick thinkers. And it was only the timely arrival of a Long Patrol hare detachment that saved Redwall from the wolverine Gulo the Savage._

_The Guosim shrews ("Guosim" is an acronym for "Guerilla Union of Shrews in Mossflower", in case it has slipped your mind) and the otter tribe station garrisons here at all seasons, alternating every two seasons. Right now, one and a half score of recently-arrived otters under the female Winopal stand armed and ready to repulse any greedy or bold vermin. In addition, the far-ranging Wanderers of Mossflower are also pledged to our defense._

_Of course, no one can ever ignore our Abbey Warrior, Wallace. He's a handsome, strapping young mouse, brown of fur and green of eye. In fact, I remember when that young rascal was only a little mousebabe, a Dibbun! Such a fine troublemaker... it reminds me of my early years._

_However, he is now a responsible young adult—for the most part—and he carries the mighty sword of Martin the Warrior with ease. Of course, his mischievous spirit is not completely gone, and more than once I have seen him helping the Dibbuns execute one scheme or another. Indeed, it was only a quick remembrance of _my_ own prank-pulling days that kept me from being doused with water from a bucket balanced on the kitchen door! Since the Dibbuns are too short to have done it, I assume our very own Wallace was responsible. That mouse! One of these days, our Badger Mother, Minerva, will box his ears so hard it will knock some seriousness into him. However, I must confess I like Wallace the way he his just fine._

_One of Wallace's Dibbunhood friends, the young hare Danforth Bouncefoot Fangleton Townes is also in residence. My word, what a name! He is just known as Danforth, or even Dan, around here. (Though Mother Minerva oftentimes calls him a "rascally long-eared bunny rabbit!") The young hare was abandoned here at our gates with only a season under him, and he has fit into Redwall life quite well these past seasons. He does have the legendary hare appetite, though. Like Wallace, he is also a fine fighter. And, to the chagrin of some of the elders, he was also a horrible prankster._

_The other beasts of Wallace's generation are also growing up as nice as can be. Redwall seems to have a boom of young, strong adults as of late! Though Redwall is not a warlike place, the garrisons and young beasts we have here should be a deterrent to anybeast bearing ill-will. Sister Bria won't let up about a young harvest mouse, Leena, who is both a duteous helper and an expert saber-fighter._

_However, mystery still surrounds Wallace's selection as Redwall Champion. Martin came to the young mouse in a dream, telling him to take up the sword. Wallace, of course, took up Martin's blade in accordance with the long-dead Warrior's wishes. That is in no way in dispute. What many of us wonder is _why_ Wallace was chosen. Mossflower patrols and such have reported nothing more threatening than roving bands of bedraggled vermin. Why a Warrior is needed now is still an unanswered question._

_Or, perhaps not. All is not well in Mossflower. While Redwall hasn't been seriously harmed in any way, something... bad is stirring in the woods. Why, just a few weeks ago Winopal found a savaged hedgehog body in the middle of Mossflower. At least, the otter thought it was a hedgehog. The body was so chewed up—Winopal was adamant in recounting the tooth marks—that it was nearly unrecognizable. There was also that poor rabbit family found by Logalog and his Guosim shrews several days before that. And, perhaps most intriguing, was the reports of shadowy figures flitting through the woodlands, seeming to melt into trees and rocks._

_I do not normally like to finish my journal entries on such a morbid note, but lunch looks ready to be served. I solemnly hope that whatever is lurking in Mossflower can be discovered and stopped.

* * *

_

"Wallace!" he heard someone call his name from behind as he wandered the courtyard.

Wallace, Warrior of Redwall, turned around.

"Oh, hello, Leena," he said as he saw the pretty harvest mouse hurrying towards him.

"Where are you going?" Leena said, smiling. Her soft tan fur and brown eyes matched so nicely.

"I was going to patrol the northern battlement. I'll relieve the sentry up there."

"Oh, no you won't, Wallace. You've been pulling twice the shifts around here! Please, just rest for at least one day. Seasons know you deserve it."

He blinked. He was sure the mousemaid was taken with him. He didn't mind at all. She was young—actually, compared to him, she was only younger by half a season—pretty, level-headed, considerate, and possessed of quite a headstrong personality. And, though he never found out where she learned it, she was quite good with a saber.

In fact, he'd sparred with her on several occasions, and she came close to beating him every single time.

"Well..." he said vaguely, waving his arms towards the battlements.

Let's see... what could he say? Maybe if he told her the other sentry hadn't had—

"No, Wallace, you're not going there," Leena said firmly. The mousemaid took his paw in her firm grip. "No," she repeated, "you're coming to rest and eat lunch."

He gave a little inward sigh. "Yes, Leena."

The harvest mouse's mouth quirked into a grin. He always thought she was even prettier when smiling.

"Good, at least _you_ know your place. Come along now," Leena said a tad imperiously. He couldn't help but snort.

Leena frowned. "What? Did I say something funny?"

He got his sniggering under control. "Not really. It was just then you sounded extraordinarily like Mother Minerva telling the Dibbuns to take a bath."

The mousemaid arched an eyebrow. Now she looked like Brother Audrin.

And, of course, he couldn't help but laugh again.

"Now who do I look like?"

"With your eyebrow cocked like that you look like... like..." he started to laugh again. He took a couple more whooping breaths before he calmed down.

Now... how to tell her? Ah!

"Do you remember that one day when poor Audrin told the rest of us that he'd almost been the victim of a falling water bucket balanced on a door?"

Leena looked like she remembered. "Yes, it was about three weeks—Wallace, you didn't!"

"Didn't what?"

She put a paw over her mouth. She was probably trying to look indignant, but he could she was trying to hide laughter.

"Were _you_ the one who put the bucket there?" Leena said from behind her paw,

He rolled his whiskers. No point in telling her otherwise. Besides, she wouldn't believe him if he said no, anyways.

"Er, yes."

"Oh, I knew it!" she laughed, supporting herself on his shoulder as she doubled up in giggles. "And I'll wager that Audrin asked if you did it, you said 'no', and he raised his eyebrow like I did!"

"Exactly," he said, grinning himself. Leena's laugh was infectious. He put a paw to his shoulder to help her steady herself.

Then, suddenly, he noticed that the mousemaid was very, very close. Their laughter died away. He slowly took Leena's paw off his shoulders, and held it between his two paws.

He couldn't think of anything to say. His mind swirled through hundreds of words and their combinations.

Then, suddenly, he realized how comical the situation was. He gave a low grunt of laughter. At that, the tension broke and he and Leena laughed again. They made their way towards the Great Hall's entrance.

"Well, where is this lunch you wanted to show me?" he asked with a grin.

"Follow me, then. Water buckets, indeed! You're just an overgrown Dibbun, Wallace! Try not to dash the cordials with hotroot, you."

"Oh, I wouldn't dare. Audrin might think it was me again."

"What are you talking about? It _was_ you who did the water pail!"

"True. However, only you and Danforth know that."

Leena looked like she was about to say something when a heavy, lightish-brown figure slammed into her. With a quick grab, he saved the mousemaid from falling. He looked at the culprit.

Ah. Danforth Bouncefoot Fangleton Townes. A rascal to be sure, but that was a case of the kettle calling the pot black, wasn't it?

"Ah, sorry, Leena!" said Dan all in a rush. Since he hadn't been raised by hares, he lacked the colloquialisms prevalent among them. "Mother Minerva caught me, er..."

" 'Er' _what_, Dan? Did you steal...?" he asked pointedly.

"Well, she found me eating one of Brother Burrchopp's mince pies." Brother Burrchopp was the head cook.

Dan was _always_ eating. Wouldn't he ever learn?

"And now, er, Minerva looks like she wants to wallop me over the head with—uh-oh!"

In keeping up with the ridiculous course of events, Danforth ducked behind a snow-covered bush as Mother Minerva came storming out of the abbey, as if on cue. He and Leena stopped to watch the tableau.

"You gluttonous, pie-stealing, feed-munching, long-eared excuse of a rabbit!" Minerva roared. "Where are you, Danforth?"

Mother Minerva was a relatively young badger mother, no more than forty-five seasons old. As such, she was still in possession of powerful muscles.

Not to mention that copper cooking ladle.

It would probably be a very _bad_ idea to even give a _hint_ that he and Leena knew where Dan was.

"Ooh... when I get my paws on him... he'll be scrubbing pots until his little tail falls off..." grumbled the badger as she began to search the grounds.

As soon as the outraged Minerva was out of earshot, he leaned towards the bushes where the hare was concealed, and muttered "She's gone. Now's your chance."

Dan gave a loud sigh of relief and leaped from the bushes. "Phew! Close one there!" the hare began to crow, not bothering to keep his voice down. "That ol' slow-footpawed stripedog nearly had—"

Oh, dear.

"_There_ _you_ _are_!" screeched Minerva from a few yards away. "_Come back here_!"

"Oh, dear. Gotta run!" yelped Danforth as he took of at top speed deeper into the courtyard, the badger in hot pursuit.

He and Leena just stared the way Dan and Minerva had rushed off to.

He couldn't hold it back any longer.

So the laughing began and continued until his sides started to hurt. Leena was hooting uncontrollably, too, clutching her ribs.

After the gasps had—mostly—subsided, he slipped a small handkerchief from his tunic pocket and handed it to Leena so she could wipe the tears of mirth from her face.

"That was quite easily the most _hilarious_ thing I have seen," Leena said reflectively.

"I definitely agree," he replied. He turned to Leena and retrieved his slightly damp kerchief. "Now, I think it's time when had something to eat... before Danforth somehow manages to take it all!"

* * *

Up on the southern battlements, Winopal the otter was treated to quite an interesting sight. She had never seen a badger move so fast.

"Get back here, Danforth!"

"Sorry, marm, but not while you're holding that obscenely hard ladle!"

"I'll give you _hard_ _ladle_, you thief!"

Blinking and trying to suppress laughter, she turned to stare out over Mossflower. T'was a nice winter day with some new snow on the ground.

The pines and rowans and yews and beeches all shimmered with new snow. The ground along the southern regions was a tiny bit rocky, and she could spy the stream running toward the east. She would be more than happy when spring arrived and the ice melted. Aye, she wasn't a "riverdog" for nothing!

And there were the eyes.

_Eyes_?

She had almost missed them.

That was all she could see. Whatever owned those eyes was hiding or camouflaged.

"Mudskip!" she called to the other otter on the southern wall. "We 'ave a—" She stopped, dumb, when she saw the eyes were gone.

"Yeah?" the younger otter called.

"Never mind."

"Righto." The younger otter went back to scanning the area.

She massaged her head. Perhaps this was a sign of aging. She wasn't all that young anymore; she was approaching her thirty-eighth season already. She was still strong and agile, but...

Shaking her head, she wrapped her cloak around herself tighter.

Redwall would be facing its share of trouble in the very near future. By the fur, she hoped it wasn't as bad as she felt it would be...


	7. Chapter 4: Sand and Fire

**_PRIDE OF KAVAZARA_**

By

Gregory P. Wong

* * *

**Chapter Four: Sand And Fire**

* * *

Light armor? Check. Provisions and canteen? Check. Wraith hunting knife? Check. Blanket? Check. Change of clothing? Check. Small mechbow? Check.

Check, check, check.

Tigron scowled as he thought about his "mission." Dammit, he was sure the two Bladestone rulers knew he couldn't stand Raezel, and vice-versa. Oh, by the fires of Hellgates, why her? Why not anybeast else? Why, why, why?

Anyway, he was confrmed for this mission, and his whining would do less than nothing. Might as well make the most of it.

He was stripped down to the waist in the privacy of his personal quarters. Yes, the perks of being a lieutenant.

He touched the scar that ran along his chest, marring his smooth, hard muscles. While he wasn't like the hyperactive iceblinker, he was very unswerving in keeping his body in top physical condition. He actually exercised as much as he could. And, sometimes, attractive females had taken a look at him, clad only in training trousers as he did his regime of pushups, hanging crunches, chin-ups, jogs, and whatnot.

It was just too bad that he hadn't looked into the eligible fems. Too bad, it would have given something to think about when he was wandering into... what was it called again? Mushflower? Mossflummer? Wait, it was "Mossflower."

At least Raezel was, as the saying went, "easy on the eyes."

Ugh. Just a pretty face, but nothing more. He'd sooner get with a toad than her.

He slipped into his tan colored, heavy, loose cotton pantaloons and laced them. Over his torso he slipped on his long-sleeved armoring tunic—also a light brown—and tied it. Then, he began to slip into his armor.

Since the mission was not a front-line detail—hooray for that—he was only going in with eelskin leather armor. His cuirass, the armor that covered his torso, consisted of ten wide, hard, crisscrossing leather lames that were connected by light steel rivets. The top three lames looped over his shoulders, and the rest wrapped around his body to just above his waist. The end of one lame met the opposite end—at his back—in a V-pattern, and the ten lames crisscrossed over the other lames to provide excellent joints.

The articulated armor didn't impede his movements—which would be annoying to a Wraith who needed to be in constant motion—and provided decent protection to his body. Well, "decent" considering it was just hardened leather. His standard armor, which was the same design but made of leather-faced steel, would be great, but he had to travel light and fast. The thick crimson leather was specially treated to give it stiffness and durability, and it was hemmed with his personal color, brown.

After his body armor was in place, he slipped on the fauld—the section that protected his thighs and lower body. The fauld was a three-lamed oval that extended to his rear—with a little slat cut for the tail—and groin—oh yeah, he was sure as Hellgates protecting _that_—and the two four-lamed pieces connected to the sides, wrapping loosely around the outsides of his hips.

Armoring the legs wasn't too much of a good idea where mobility was concerned.

His pauldrons—the armor that protected his shoulder joints—followed. The pauldrons were shaped six-lame joints, and were connected to his cuirass, extending to about halfway on his upper arm, meaning he didn't really need rerebraces.

Next were some greaves that protected his lower legs. They were just simple leather cylinders, but they would keep him from getting hamstringed by a stray sharp object on the floor. These wrapped around the entire calves—over his pants—and were fastened with cord.

Completing his outfit were his fingerless gloves and vambraces. The fingerless gloves were suede, not polished leather. They were fingerless because he wanted to "feel" his weapons himself, not through gloves, and suede because he never did like the smooth leather on his paws, anyway. It didn't breathe at all. Ugh.

The vambraces, armor for the forearm, were not much more than leather wraps which were padded on the inside for comfort. The vambraces extended from halfway up his forearm to just a little past his wrists. Like his pauldrons and cuirass, it was also hemmed with brown thread.

All in all, the armor was light and would allow him to travel and—if it really had to come down to the little dance—fight with no restrictions.

Sure, there were weakpoints, particularly the joints, which should have been protected by light chain mail, but mobility versus protection was a give-take thing.

Of course, he folded his "casual" clothes—pantaloon and tunic identical to the ones he wore around here normally—and put them on top of the small blanket. He folded it up into a sling-like roll. That would go over his shoulders, under his cloak.

On top of the cuirass he slung on his scythe-carrier, belting it tightly. Over the fauld went his swordbelt, the scabbard on his left. Hanging at the back of his waist, the handle pointing to the left, was his curved hunting knife. The scimitar-shaped Wraith knives were issued to all Wraiths, and were really richly engraved along their 14-inch lengths with brass and wraithstone.

Now, slip on and fasten the hooded cloak—with its one side the color of dried grass and the other a mottled, gray-white-brown-green-golden camouflage—and he was complete.

He took a look in his mirror and tweaked his swordbelt a bit. There.

He sat down on his cot and examined his mechbow. The "mechanized crossbow" was a relatively recent addition to the Bladestone arsenal. It had the shape and dimensions of small crossbow, but it was one heck a feat of engineering. The wooden shell of the body hid a series of gears, slides, and other mechanical paraphernalia that lent the mechbow its abilities. A double-action sliding grip on the underside of the weapon both drew back the bowstring and fed a six-inch bolt from a 8-shot spring-action magazine. The mechbow's autoloading configuration gave it a range of over 75 yards, and mechbow could also be configured to fire in a manual-cocking mode that transformed it into an excellent sniper weapon with a range of just over 200 yards. Some real true-blue marksbeasts even mounted scopes on the weapons.

And, coincidentally, it was the staple weapon the Pathfinders. Yep, dreams never died.

He pocketed four loaded magazines and twenty-four extra bolts.

He set the mechbow back down on his bed. Stepping over to a carrier nailed to the wall opposite his bed, he neatly slid out Dawn and Dusk. He slid is longsword into its sheath, and stuck the scythe to his back. His supply pack would go _over_ Dusk, and would be a pain if he actually needed to use it, but then again, the combination of mechbow, Wraith knife, and Dawn was good enough.

Unless he ran into a full-fledged sleeper contingent, and that would mean he was damned out of luck.

That done, he fit the pack over his shoulders, wrapped the blanket-wrapped clothes over his shoulders, picked up the mechbow, and left his room.

_And thus begins the most interesting adventure of my life_!

Yeah, right. Probably the most annoying one, if anything.

* * *

Getting up this early was just a _tad_ annoying. Meaning very.

It was still dark when Raezel left her room and made her way towards the war room of Lord Longspear and Lady Galecut. She heard pawsteps from behind, and sensed Tigron the sandscratcher closing in. She turned, looking him up and down.

He was outfitted nearly identically. True, his pantaloons were far looser than her somewhat-tight trousers, and her tunic was only shortsleeved, she didn't equip pauldrons—instead she had curved rerebraces on her upper arms—and the coloring was different—her personal color was light blue, not that brown color.

She sniffed and turned on her heel towards the war room.

As usual, three Praetorians were guarding the door. She did a quick mind sweep, and determined that the two praemitar-wielders were regular pili, and the one holding the glaive was a magna pilus—commonly known as a magpil—a master sergeant.

Great. Now she didn't have to feel all nervous knowing that she had a farking praetor watching her.

Well, she might as well be considerate. She waited for the sandscratcher to catch up, so the guards wouldn't have to open the doors twice.

"Lieutenants Raezel Snowdance and Tigron Sandstar reporting as ordered!" she announced.

Just like every other Praetorian, the three didn't say a thing.

Tigron the Boring would be right at home.

"_I_ _heard_ _that_, _icebiter_," she heard Tigron mindspeak to her.

"_Good_ _for_ _you_."

"_Just quit for once_. _Could you do that_, _please_?"

Maybe Tigron _could_ use a break. After all, they were gonna have to deal with each other for a looooong time.

She shook her head and led the way into the war room.

A large rectangular table dominated the center of the room. Inside were some, well, pretty high-up officers. Of course, Lord Longspear and Lady Galecut were there, along with the huge mountain of wildcat that was War Marshal Razorfang. Some assorted generals and Crimson Guard officers were there too, including Archon Keltaa and General Flantak, a male weasel. Ouchie. This was some major operation she and the sand marten were gonna pull.

And that didn't do much to reassure her.

She and sandscratcher walked to the edge of the table and snapped crisp salutes to the assembled high command. The officers rose from their seats and returned the gesture, letting her and the sand marten drop their arms.

Yikes. She was beginning to feel intimidated.

A little bit, at least.

"Lewtenents," started Razorfang, "yew know yaor mission?"

"Yessir." She swore Tigron said it at the same time as her.

"Good," said Lord Lonspear from beside the wildcat. "However, after careful consideration, we've decided to add some objectives to your queue."

She stood a little straighter. New orders...?

"First, you will both travel south and make contact with Redwall Abbey," continued the rat lord. "You will remain there to help in any needed defense.

"Second, you will make contact with Captains Trueblade and Whipclaw, and Major Flickerfist. They are to assist in the defense of Redwall."

At that, Lady Galecut rose from her seat, walked over, and presented two envelopes to her and Tigron. She took one, and sandscratcher took the other.

"These are orders that are to be given to the major when you make contact. If the officers cannot be reached, make sure those are burned." said Galecut. With that, the rat returned to her seat.

"Fourth, as soon as objectives one to three are complete," continued the rat lord, "you will make contact with both Salamandastron and Castle Floret. We're not quite sure on their exact location relative to Redwall, so you'll have to ask around. We do know that Salamandastron lies to the west, and Castle Floret is in a southward direction."

Longspear sat back in his chair and looked her straight in the eyes. And, like a good drill sarge had shown her, it was best _not_ to look into the Bladestone Lord's eyes. So she focused on a spot approximately six inches above his head. He must have been satisfied, since he shifted his gaze to Tigron.

"You have your mission, Lieutenants. Good luck."

* * *

She really, really wondered how a sand marten—heck, _tribes_ of them—could live here. They had left just after sunup.

And it was now real, real hot over this sandy, featureless excuse of a plain.

She was gonna farking bake. Whoopee-doo.

Really, how did Tigron stand this heat? For that matter, how could he do it so easily?

Sandscratcher stopped for a moment.

"I think we'd better stop for now and get some shadow. We'll continue when it's dark."

"And why is that?"

"It's getting close to the hottest part of the day, and you don't look so good."

She bristled. So that was it, huh? Sandscratcher wanted to show her up.

"I'm perfectly find, _Tigron_. I don't need your damn help."

The other lieutenant spun around and walked right up to her. He looked a tad pissed.

"Holy _crap_! Fine. You know what? I can deal with it. Really, I can. But, at least do what I tell you to do."

She frowned. "Why? What, I'm not smart enough to do it my own way?"

Tigron stared at her in disbelief. "Are you _serious_? You're gonna lecture a _sand marten_ on how to wander the damned _desert_? I'm just doing this so I won't have to drag your tail over the dunes after you pass out from heat exhaustion, so this isn't a favor to you."

She opened her mouth to shoot back at him, but stopped. He did have a point.

"Fine. What do I do, Master Sandscratcher?"

Tigron growled. "First of all, make sure you drink lots. You haven't been sipping much. Sure, it'll make you piss enough to put out the fire around Hellgates, but it'll shield you from the heat for a bit. This heat's making use a lot of moisture. Secondly, make sure you keep as much of your body covered as possible. And last, but of course not least, please, _please_ take off that stupid bandana. It's not helping you."

She frowned. "It's keeping the sun off my head and ears."

The sandscratcher wiped a paw over his face in exasperation. What, a sand marten couldn't deal with the fact that she knew some desert survival?

The sandscratcher took a deep breath, and looked into her eyes. "First, you should know—at least I hope you know, living in a gigantic icecube maker and all—that a sizable percentage of your body heat leaves through your head and ears. So, put a bandana over it and you trap the heat. And yes, you're right telling me that it keeps the sun off, but guess what? Trapping the heat so close to your body is doing _more_ harm than good."

Cripes. She sighed quietly. Score one for the sandscratcher.

"So, that said, use your hood. It'll keep the sun off, and it's not so close to your fur that it'll keep all the heat trapped."

"Fine, fine, you win, your lordship. Now, can we get moving?"

The sand marten didn't say anything, but just turned around and started walking again. She yanked off the bandana and stowed it.

And, of course, the wind picked up a bit, forcing her to squeeze her eyes nearly closed. Sure, snow foxes were called "iceblinkers" since they had long lashes that kept flying snow out, but they worked just fine for sand. To some extent, anyway.

She and his desert lordship traveled for a bit more, passing on one side of a large dune. It was just about noon now, and the sun was beating with its mighty hammer o' heat on the sand.

And then there were two Tigrons. Huh? She blinked, and the melded to form one image again. Weird.

Funny, it was also getting harder to breathe. And now her legs felt weak. And now she was actually _trembling_. How weird was this?

She sat down. She watched Tigron stop and whirl around.

"Hey, I'm getting a bit tired. I'll just take a quick nap," she said. She noticed her speech was getting slurred. Waaaay tired. This was going to give Tigron something to poke her about, getting this tired and all, but at least...

She fell asleep before she hit the sand.

* * *

"...just take a quick nap," he heard Miss Iceblinker say before she keeled over onto her back.

He groaned. "Please, Raezel, this isn't the time to take a little nap." He walked over to the snow vixen. "Hey! Let's get—"

His voice trailed off as he took a closer look. No, not now, not here, not _her_.

The iceblinker had just fallen victim to heat stroke... and, quite possibly, an even more serious condition associated with those without desert experience, heat fever.

What should he do? His first instinct was to help her...but that was going to take lots of time. Fleacrap! She should have stopped! This served her right.

And that wouldn't be too much of a problem. The Bladestone Lord had been pretty emphatic in getting the priorities straight. "_The completion of the mission supercedes all else_. _If one of you becomes so incapacitated as to be immobile_, t_he other will have to_... _have to abandon the fallen one and continue the mission_."

Why not? She was nothing but a great big annoyance. Leave her here. She had decided she knew what was best, so, fine, she should reap what she sowed.

He turned to go.

And then he remembered. Remembered something that linked him to her and her to him. Something terrible. Something that only she and he had experienced.

But so what? She never seemed to care.

But should that matter? Wraiths couldn't see everything somebeast thought. Maybe...

Maybe nothing. Life would be easier. That was simple. All those insults and hurtful things...

He reflected a bit more. With a grunt, he unstrapped Raezel's carrying pack. He stepped away from the vixen...

...and dropped his packs.

He couldn't leave her. No... If he left her, he'd leave a piece of himself behind.

Quickly, he disconnected her twin sickles from her back carriers and snapped them together. He rammed the sickle-staff into the sand on the slope of the dune. He unclipped Dusk from his back and rammed it blades first into the dust.

He quickly unwrapped the long blanket from his shoulders and fastened to corners to the two protruding weapons. He then anchored the remaining corners with his and Raezel's Wraith knives.

Now, at least she was in shade. Damnation! It was getting really hot, even by his desert-dweller standards. Shade wouldn't be enough for Raezel, though. Not by far.

He crawled under the makeshift tent and examined the iceblinker.

Her breathing was short, shallow, and ragged, and she seemed to be shivering, which was just plain silly in this heat. Of course, she wasn't shivering, trembling to keep her muscles warm. Her body had overheated, and she was convulsing.

He shook his head and unfastened her blanket and cloak. Those would make some decent bedding.

The armor wasn't helping, of course, and neither was the clothing in general. Quickly, he unfastened her armor—all of it, cuirass, vambraces, fauld, greaves, rerebraces and gloves—and laid it to the side.

Oh, if she ever found out... she'd probably kill him...

He slowly unlaced her tunic and maneuvered it off.

He drew in a quick breath and felt a quiver in his stomach. Geez, she was beautiful!

The first time he had met her, he was moderately surprised at how skinny she was. She had been so skinny he had wondered how those blizzards they had over there didn't blow her away.

Now... she was still thin. But it wasn't—definitely wasn't—unhealthy skinny. More like a very attractive slender. Feminine curves had filled in over her body. Her shoulders were relatively broad too, showing a body that was both incredibly beautiful and one belonging to a natural athlete. Beneath the snowy fur, he could see compact muscles rippling as she quaked.

Another gulp followed the first—any more of those, and he'd have to replace his throat—and he loosened her trousers. He could see that she was wearing undergarments, so he didn't have to worry about...

Ugh, no. Don't even think of that. He didn't like her, remember?

That out of the way, he went over to his pack and drew out a rag. Padding back over to Raezel's trembling form, he took his canteen and doused the fabric with water. He folded it into a pad and placed it on Raezel's forehead. The snow vixen moaned and tossed her head a bit, but he gently held it still until she quit moving. Damn. Her eyes were rolling beneath the lids. She was dreaming rapidly... and that was a sign that the heat was hitting her hard. Fever dreams... had to be.

He went through his pack again and dug around. Ah, there. Another scrap of fabric. He folded it into a square and saturated it again. Wet rag in paw, he began to run it over Raezel's shivering body, letting the water evaporate and cool her. He ran the damp scrap over her chest, and he swallowed—dammit, _again_!—as he felt her taut muscles.

Why was he doing this? She was just another pretty female with a sexy body. Whatever made young male act like babies around females was hitting him with a vengeance... which, for his case, was like saying the ocean was a tad wet.

Spiderspit, this had to stop! A nice—no, a _gorgeous_—body and a beautiful face wasn't everything. He couldn't stand her, and that was that.

He hoped.

He had run the cloth over her chest, stomach, and arms, but now he needed to get to her back. Turning her over on her stomach wouldn't do, since she was convulsing and unconscious. If her tongue got stuck in the back of the throat, there would be a serious problem.

He sighed. Hellgates...

Grunting, he scooped Raezel into his arm and lifted her into a sitting position, bracing her against his body with his left arm. His paw kept her head from lolling around.

He tried not to think about the incredibly close snow vixen.

The feel of her slender, muscled form was downright marvelous.

Actually close was a big understatement. They were so close they should actually be...

No, no, not those thoughts again.

His face was close enough to Raezel's so that he could examine her visage closely. Her face was fine-featured, dainty almost. Beautiful for a vixen, or by any beast's standards, in fact.

He finished sponging her back, and he laid her back down.

Fleacrap! She was still in bad condition. She was still breathing raggedly, and her muscles were still shivering. He felt her forehead. It was still burning like Hellgates.

He snarled to himself. He hadn't brought along rubbing alcohol, which was one heck of a lot better at cooling than plain water. So, now he had to do this manually. Just perfect...

He set aside the wet rag aside, and took his canteen and opened it. He poured some water into his palm, set the canteen aside, and poured the water over Raezel's torso.

And then he started massaging the water into her skin, making sure it evaporated optimally. He repeated all the motions he made with the wet rag... but know it was with his bare paws with fingers that massaged her equally bare body.

Oh, fleacrap... if she ever found out about this. Even if he told her the truth about what he was thinking, she would still try to knock his block off.

She looked like she was getting better, but he couldn't let up. She was especially vulnerable now as her temperature stabilized. He sighed and continued.

* * *

_It was two seasons after she had met the chunky sandscratcher, and she was, frankly, tired of living here._

_She had had the dream of becoming one of the Bladestone High Templars, but she gave it up. No reason in pursuing a hopeless dream, huh?_

_But, excitement, excitement, excitement. She needed something besides her tribe. Not that she didn't like it; she was actually taking a look at a cute fox who was definitely scoping her out. Now that she had gotten meat unto her bones—Dad had always said she only needed some time to turn into a fem that males would drool over—she found a bunch of same-aged foxes trying to get on her good side._

_Still, she was only thirteen seasons old, and she, frankly, didn't want to get bogged down with that kind of stuff just yet._

_What if one of them turned out like Tigron? Ick._

_Anyway, she was checking out the war band of this "Grimtooth." A stoat had passed through the tribe and spread the word. This Grimtooth stoat seemed to be one heck of a fighter, and his army was second-to-none, though she would wager the Bladestone soldiers could put paid to him. Well, it did look promising, and better yet, there was actually a chance she could do this. So, might as well check it out._

_And at least she could bring some things to the table. Dad and her older sister, Raiel, had done a really good job in teaching her dual sickles. In fact, she was so good with them she beat them both. Dad was a little indignant at being bested by a thirteen season-old. But he was very impressed, and he actually gave her—yes, _gave_ her—two family heirlooms, two war sickles, passed down from since who knew when. They were identical weapons, with wide-bladed C-shaped blades that stood a foot high. The wooden handles were about the same length as the blades._

_But they were really ornate weapons, too. The blades were engraved with glimmering, crimson runic symbols that seemed to glow. Dad said they were... what were they again? Oh, yeah, wraithstones. According to Dad, wraithstones were these gems with really weird properties. If a blacksmith heated a crystal on a forge, it could be worked with as though it were melted steel. But, on cooling, it retained its pattern and hardened into a hard gem again. Neat stuff. Mixing the crystals with the steel made the weapon nearly indestructible, and it was nice to look at, also._

_And, last, but of course not least, were the blades themselves. They were specially crafted so that they made this strange humming-whistle sound when moved at high speed._

_Sweet stuff._

_She was a bit nervous, though. Dad and about thirty of the clan's warriors had been gone for a week already. Probably on another trading meeting with the sand martens. _

_She had slipped out during the middle of the night, when it was coldest, and now she was only a few hours away from where this Grimtooth beast had camped. At least this war leader had had the sense to set up shop in the temperate zone between ice and desert. If they had tried the snow she'd bet a bunch of the warriors would be catatonic or something._

_Hmm... Maybe her estimate had been wrong. She could see this huge collection of tents, not too distant._

_With a shrug, she shucked off her cold-weather trousers and long-sleeved tunic and got into her shorts and white sleeveless tunic._

_Well, might as well get her tail over there._

_She walked towards the perimeter, and two sentries, a scrawny ferret and a snaggletoothed rat, both holding spears, stopped her. They both wore yellow tunics and trousers._

"_Wot yew want?" the ferret grumbled._

"_I'm here to see this Grimtooth. I'd like to join his army."_

_She saw the rat look her up and down. Her eyes narrowed. The way he was looking at her body..._

"_Well, I dunno 'bout bein' a fighter, but yew could be of some use when yew've growns a bit older," the rat said nastily._

_Oh. Now she understood what that look was. And, guess what? She didn't like it one bit. But she had to be polite._

"_Hey, hey, don't worry. I'm a good fighter. I don't want the, uh, _other_ job."_

"_Sure yew don'," said the ferret. "We don' want yew righ' now. Come back whens yew're older. Mebbe it'll be fun."_

_Okay, fine. Maybe it was time to use a more direct approach._

"_No can do, Pipsqueak," she said coldly. "let me through."_

_Well, it looked like that hit the mark. Pipsqueak was looking a little pissed, though the rat over there was grinning maliciously._

_Pipsqueak stepped forward. "Wot'd yew say?"_

"_I said, 'let me through,' you undersized excuse of a ferret." She shot a glare at the rat. "And you can wipe that smirk from your ugly mouth, Chopper-face."_

_Now the rat was angry too._

"_Wanna die, foxie?" Chopper-face growled._

"_Do you?" she shot back._

_Well, that was probably it, since Pipsqueak tried to grab her_

_She strafed left, stepped towards Pipsqueak, and hammered him in the stomach with a side kick. She ducked under the punch of Chopper-face and slammed a spinning back kick into the rat's jaw._

_If Pipsqueak and Chopper-face were mad before, they were farking apoplectic now._

_She drew out her sickles and gave them a few whirls._

_Chopper-face got back to his footpaws faster and stabbed at her with his spear. She neatly deflected the shaft with her left weapon, and whacked the rat across the face with the flat of her other sickle. She sensed Pipsqueak coming towards her, and danced backwards as the spear thrust towards her. She rolled towards the ferret and swept his legs out from under him with a kick._

_A little graceful twirl, and she was back to her footpaws. The idiots couldn't even get their own limbs untangled._

_Maybe this place wasn't such a good idea. If losers like Chopper-face and Pipsqueak were any indicator, the quality of this place totally sucked. Totally not cool._

_She was about to back away from the two guards when she heard a voice call out._

"_Crossfang, Gurk, hold!"_

_It sounded like a youngish adult voice, but it actually sounded like it knew what the heck it was doing. Unlike those two idiots over there._

_She saw a slim, medium-height ferret—he was only an inch or two above her current five-feet, five -inches—step out from behind a tent. He looked like he hadn't quite broken twenty seasons yet._

"_Sir!" the two bumblers got back to their footpaws in record speed and saluted the new ferret._

"_Last time I checked, it was Grimtooth, not the guards, who determined who was worthy to join the horde," the ferret put in mildly. By the way he said it, it looked like he was gonna hand Crossfang's and Gurk's arses back to them when this was all said and done._

"_Get out of here. Tonight, you two are serving latrine cleanup." The two slightly bruised guards took off. Bastards._

_She watched the ferret shake his head. She swore she heard him mutter "Idiots." Then the ferret turned to her._

"_My name is Tanth. I'm one of Chieftain Grimtooth's junior officers. You are...?"_

"_Oh, hey. I'm Raezel Snowdance."_

_She looked Tanth over. His tunic and trousers were a bronze color. A symbol that looked like a battleaxe was sewn to the tunic's right shoulder. He had a finely crafted long rapier that hung sheathed from his right side. By the way he carried himself he sure as heck knew how to use it, too. And, since he had his sword on the right, it meant he was left-pawed, like Dad._

_Not bad looking, either, but he was a bit too old for her._

_Ugh. She had to stop _thinking_ like that. Geez... She was only thirteen!_

_Then she noticed Tanth beckoning to her. Oops. She really had to keep her mind from wandering so much._

_She and the ferret passed a lot of tents. There were some sparring rings around there, too, where collections of beasts fought in the roped off areas. She was _very_ glad that the overwhelming majority seemed to know more than Chopper-face and Pipsqueak. Sheesh._

"_By the way," Tanth said from beside her, "I'm sorry about the little, er, _trouble_ you had with Crossfang and Gurk. I've never liked them myself, and I can't fathom why Grimtooth accepted them."_

_She shrugged. "I'm fine. Those two morons couldn't have hit me if I were standing still."_

_She heard Tanth chuckle. "That was apparent." The ferret paused, and she wondered what was going through his mind. He looked like a contemplative sort, like little sandscratcher. Then she heard him speak again. "You come from one of the ice fox tribes, yes?"_

"_Yup."_

_She glanced at Tanth and saw the ferret nod. "If you are an example of the warriors from the area, I'll suggest the need for more recruiters there to Grimtooth."_

_That was a nice complement, and she sensed that the ferret wasn't insincere about it. Her talent for knowing what other beasts thought came in handy all the time._

"_Well, um, I'm not exactly a run-of-the-mill warrior, Tanth." Oh, wait a second. "It's okay if I call you Tanth, right?"_

"_Of course. Just be sure to refer to me as 'Junior Officer Tanth' whenever other officers are around. They tend to get their trousers in a twist if you don't. Well, you were saying...?"_

"_Yeah. Like I said, I'm not a normal warrior. My father—" Oh. Would it be a good idea to tell Tanth that her dad was the chief of the tribe? Probably not. It would be bad to attract attention like that. "My father," she repeated, "is one of the clan's best warriors. Naturally, he taught me, and I'm, well, pretty good."_

_She watched Tanth cock an eyebrow. "Really? Interesting." The ferret nodded again. "So, after seeing you thrash those two half-wits, I assume you're both an unarmed and armed fighting expert."_

_She snorted. "I guess you could say that."_

"_Well," said Tanth, "I'm fairly certain that Grimtooth will be happy to have you." Tanth stopped, and she saw that they had arrived at a large golden tent. Hmm... it could only be..._

"_This is Grimtooth's tent. Step inside, answer his questions, and try to impress him. Take my advice," said the ferret. Weird. He looked like he had a faraway stare to his eyes._

_She smiled. "What? Been there, done that?"_

_Oops. Maybe that was the wrong thing to say, since Tanth looked very uncomfortable right now. But why? It was just a question..._

"_In a way," Tanth said stiffly. But he loosened up a bit after a second. " It was a pleasure to meet you, Raezel Snowdance. Good luck, and, though I hear it's bad luck to say so, welcome to the horde."_

"_Nice to meet you too, Junior Officer Tanth."_

_Tanth grunted laughter, gave a wave, and stalked off._

_Well, time to meet the head honcho of this place._

_She stepped into the tent._

_Well, that went nicely. Grimtooth definitely was impressive, big, muscular, and carrying this big battleaxe. She'd followed Tanth's advice and the chieftain was basically begging her to join his ranks. Well, time to start a glorious career as one of Grimtooth's great warriors._

_She was sitting on a rock outside of the camp. Well, just _thinking_ wasn't too odd, right? Even the glorious life—ha ha—of Raezel Snowdance needed some calm._

_Then she felt a twinge in her head. Whoa! Danger! What..._

_A heavy blow to the back of her head knocked her forward. What the bloody Hellgates?_

_Before she could get the twinkling birdies out of her vision, arms grasped her, pinning her limbs, and, damn, forced her to the ground on her back. She couldn't move._

_The blinking birds finally left her vision, and she was treated to the rather ugly faces of Chopper-face and Pipsqueak. She could see a pair of stoats, another rat, and a trio of weasels behind them. A weasel took her sickles and tossed them a few feet away._

_And Chopper-face and Pipsqueak looked veeeeery pissed off._

"_What? Ready for round two?" she ground out._

"_Aye, foxie," snarled Chopper-face. "But yew won' be alive to experience it!"_

_She laughed. Yes, laughed. She was scared out of her wits right now. "That's nice. How 'bout letting me go and then we can see who becomes worm food?"_

_She didn't like Pipsqueak's laugh. "Naw, we won' do that. 'Member how I said yew'd be useful once yew was older?" Oh, that sounded _bad._ "Well, foxie, I usually likes my fems all growed up, but yew're too good to be passin' up."_

_She flinched._

"_See, after wes all hads our fun," the ferret continued, "Wes a-goin' to run a test. Wanna know wot it is?"_

"_Uh... Sure..."_

_Actually, no, she didn't. Let Pipsqueak run his mouth, because she needed to think fast._

_But no brilliant ideas came._

_Cripes._

"_Well, ours little test is ta see wot happens to a beast if she gots her paws sawed off and is tossed in ta a scorchin' desert."_

_Oh-no..._

_There was this male-teenager joke: "I don't wanna die a virgin." It was frighteningly relevant now. But, damn, she wanted to lose the physical aspect of it in a romantic fashion. Not from... rape._

_Pipsqueak started to fumble with his pants._

_Oh, _HELLGATES

_Think! Distract them!_

"_Even _think _about putting _it_ anywhere near me, and I'll rip it off and make you eat it. You sure as heck look like you could use the protein."_

_Another nasty laugh. Then her face exploded with pain as something hard struck her._

_Damn, she felt something running down her face. Blood. That bastard! Pipsqueak had just done a good job on her cheek with the hilt off a knife._

"_Ha! Yew really think yew can do that?"_

"_Naw, she can't," she heard Chopper-face reply cruelly. "Time for fun, wot do yew say?"_

_Her breath was coming in gasps now. This was the most frightened she had ever been. Damn! She had to try and get _some _semblance of control _now

_Pipsqueak leered at her._

"_Let her go," she heard a new voice call._

_This voice sounded even younger than Tanth's. Heck, now that she thought about it, she could swear she heard some not-quite-out-of-puberty cracking. Her voice was a bit like that too, albeit not as "deep" as this new voice. Who could it be?_

"_Wot?" Chopper-face growled, annoyance plastered on his face. The rat turned, giving her an excellent view of her "rescuer." It was..._

_...Sandscratcher?_

_What in Hellgates?_

_Wow, he had changed. Whereas she had gotten some meat onto her frame, Tigron had lost the fat. He also looked quite tall now, and muscular. He was wearing his pantaloons and shortsleeved tunic, and a sheathed sword hung from his left side._

_Well, it looked like the saying "things change" was damned true._

_And that sorta sucked. She couldn't call him a little snot anymore._

"_Go away, yew wet-behind-the-ears nomad. She be all ours," she heard Pipsqueak bark._

"_Let her go, or I'll take you all out right here. And then after she's released, I'll sit back and laugh while she feeds you your left arm. You look like you need the protein."_

_Despite the situation, she snorted._

_Chopper-face looked angrily at Pipsqueak. Then the rat turned to the two stoats._

"_Take care o' him."_

_She watched the two beasts smirk and advance on sandscratcher, their clubs raised._

_And then Tigron blurred_

_Well, not really. He just moved so fast and so smoothly it just _looked_ like he had become a light brown streak of lightening._

_She couldn't quite suppress a snigger as the two stoats stumbled backwards like morons. Obviously, Chopper-face's friends were as damned bad at fighting as he was. Sheez._

"_Ugh. Yew idiots be scared of a teen-season beast?" she heard the other rat mutter. "Leave 'im ta me." The other rat turned to Pipsqueak. "Keep that fox warm fer me."_

_This didn't look good. She was sort of guessing that this other rat was some big-shot in Pipsqueak's and Chopper-face's group. The other rat grunted, drew a broadsword, and stepped up to Tigron._

"_Heh heh," She heard Chopper-face laugh. "Slinktail is one o' tha best swordsbeasts ins the horde. That liddle idiot don't have a chance. Nobeast can stand up ta Slinktail."_

_Weird. Here she was, about to get killed and worse, but she actually felt a twinge of panic for sandscratcher. What in the world? The stress must be making her nuts._

_There was a clang of steel as Tigron's longsword and "Slinktail's" broadsword clashed._

_She momentarily forgot her situation. Whereas Slinktail's fighting form was typical—albeit very skilled—of common swordbeasts, sandscratcher's was completely new to her. He moved with this beautiful fluid grace, and he used agility as much as his sword to counter Slinktail's attacks. Despite Tigron's deft movements, he almost always stayed in contact with the ground. Very strange, but interesting. Add that to the fact that sandscratcher was keeping that strange "trance" look she had seen when she had first met him, and it was obvious that Tigron knew what he was doing._

_She saw the sand marten and the rat back away from each other. Sandscratcher looked calm. Slinktail looked pissed as heck._

_Tigron's ready stance was new, too. He stood almost completely erect, his right side—the one where the sword was being held—slightly forward. His other arm was held loosely behind his back, slightly bent at the elbow._

_And then sandscratcher advanced confidently. His sword paw was held palm up, lightly gripping the longsword. Sandscratcher seemed to be wiggling his sword ever so slightly laterally._

_She watched Tigron advance, and she tensed. She just had to wait for the right moment..._

_Sandscratcher moved up, the longsword swishing back and forth._

_She watched sandscratcher lightly brush the blade of Slinktail._

_Damn! It was as though that tiny touch was some type of trigger or something, since Tigron started up his smooth motions again. Geez! She had never seen a sword used so damned well or so damned _differently_ before!_

_It was like Tigron was a blizzard. He moved agilely, powerfully, smoothly. But somehow, his moves were tempered. Tigron never seemed to be panicked or rushed. Well, looks like that meditate-before-everything psyche was extended to his fighting style._

_Heh, maybe in sandscratcher's case, the longsword wasn't the weapon of one-hundred-and-one warriors. It was different, yeah, so maybe that crack she made about longswords didn't really apply._

_Damn, she didn't like being wrong._

_And then she saw Slinktail shamble backwards as Tigron landed a left backfist onto the rat's nose._

_She felt the grips of Pipsqueak and Chopper-face loosen slightly._

_Showtime._

_She flexed her arms together. Yep, the two idiots weren't ready, as shown quite painfully when she got them off-balance and kneed them in the faces. It was a strange movement, but heck, she was flexible._

_Pipsqueak and Chopper-face tumbled off, and she used that moment to bound over to her two sickles and retrieve them._

_Amazingly, the two she had bowled over were up again, and the whole bunch was circling her. Even if they had the fighting skills of a three-week-dead toad, she didn't like the prospect of a damned seven-on-one._

_And sandscratcher and Slinktail were still going full tilt, although the rat wasn't looking too happy. The two broke away again, and she saw Pipsqueak and his stoat buddies circling around to meet up with Slinktail._

_Well, goody. Now it was two on eight._

_But she and sandscratcher were surrounded. Uh-oh._

"_Well, iceblinker, this is a wonderful scrape you've gotten yourself into," growled sandscratcher from behind her._

_Little... "Hey, sandscratcher, I wasn't looking to be... attacked, 'kay?" she snapped back._

"_Well, this wouldn't have happened if you had stayed in your nice frozen hole, huh?"_

"_What? It's _my_ fault that Chopper-face and Pipsqueak over there had this desire to get into my shorts?"_

_She heard Slinktail snarl. "Yew know, one second thought, I says we kills them both righ' now. She be too much trouble."_

_She heard Tigron snigger. "Well, bring it, you bumbling idiots."_

_Chopper-face gave an ugly sneer. "Why not? Maybe wes could make do with them fine weapons yews got there. Wes coulds be rich."_

_Oh, great. Would they never learn? She flipped Chopper-face a rude paw gesture. "Well, come and take 'em, then."_

_The ring of beasts began to close in. She backed into Tigron._

_She noticed that he had a nicely muscular body._

_And she sensed that Tigron thought her body was attractively lithe._

_And she sensed that Tigron knew that she thought he had a nicely muscular body._

_And she knew that Tigron knew that she knew that he liked the feel of her body._

_Geez..._

"_Hey," she whispered to sandscratcher. "Take Pipsqueak and that stoat. I'll try and take out Chopper-face and that one weasel next to him."_

"_And then we'll wheel around behind them in the confusion and keep them from surrounding us. Sounds like a plan."_

_Was it just her going crazy, or did he give a small smile?_

_She sighed. And she and sandscratcher picked that exact moment to move._

_She heard the weasel yelp as she charged. Well, he only had enough time to yelp, anyway, since her sickles buried themselves into the weasel's throat._

_She whirled to block a strike from Chopper-face's knife, and she slashed his arm with the other sickle. She heard the rat yelp, saw him jerk in pain, and she put him out of her misery with a quick jab the heart._

_And then she ditched the bodies and caught up with sandscratcher who was finishing off the stoat._

_Marten and fox, one. Hordebeasts, zero._

_But, dammit, it didn't look like it was going to stay that way. The remaining warriors looked more alert and skilled than the last four._

_But skilled enough? Yep, that was the million-coin question._

"_Yew jus killed some mates o' mine," barked Slinktail. "Time ta die."_

"_I can handle Slinktail and that weasel. I hope you're good enough to take the other two. That other weasel looks like he knows what he's doing with that spear."_

_Wow. Amazing. Somehow, sandscratcher _still _found a way to add an insult._

_She spat out some blood that had gotten into her mouth. "What the heck do you mean, 'I hope you're good enough'? I'll take you on after I've buried these bozos over here."_

_Tigron growled. "Fat chance, 'foxie.' I've got better things to do after I've saved your tail."_

_She was about to snarl back at sandscratcher's annoying arse when the stoat she would be taking on rushed her with his battleaxe._

_Really, now, not a chance. She neatly parried the blade and opened up the stoat with two vertical slashes._

_And then the spearbeast weasel charged._

_Cripes, that weasel was good. Fast, and from the looks of those scars, experienced to boot._

_She hissed when the spearhead nicked her left bicep. She retaliated by hooking the shaft with the left sickle, directing it down. She drew blood from the weasel's cheek, barely missing the eye. But the spear was withdrawn skillfully before she could aim another blow, and she had to perform a rolling jump to the right to avoid the spear._

_Of course, the spear weasel followed through, keeping her on the defensive. Damn. The spear had reach... she had to somehow get in close._

_But it was way too hard. _Crap_. The weasel was creating a barrier of wood, keeping her sickles far away from his body._

_Yes! A mistake!_

_She moved like lightening, hooking her sickles onto the haft of the spear. With a grunt, she banged the spear away. Now, it was time to metaphorically drop the proverbial hammer._

_Or sickle. Whatever._

_She scissored her sickles, and the weasel flew back, the head nearly severed._

_She noticed that the area was completely silent. She turned and saw Tigron, bleeding from a slash on his right thigh, limping towards her._

_Oh, just dandy._

"_You okay?" she heard sandscratcher ask._

"_Well, considering I've escaped some, er... violation and murder, yeah, I guess I'm good."_

_She heard the sand marten snort. "You're bleeding on the cheek. Let me have a look at it."_

"_I'm fine," she said, letting some warning into her voice._

"_Don't be dumb. It looks really bad."_

"_I don't care. I'll take care of it all by my little self. You go off and meditate or something."_

_She saw sandscratcher frown. "Fine, fine, okay."_

_Tigron turned to go._

"_Hey, Tigron," she called. Damn, this was gonna be hard._

"_What?"_

"_Thanks."_

_She saw a muscle jerk somewhere on sandscratcher's cheek._

"_Yeah, whatever. Just don't get it into your head I did it because it was you. I still don't like you, iceblinker."_

"_Well, same here, sandscratcher," she growled as Tigron Sandstar walked away._

_But, somehow, she wasn't quite sure that their last statements held all that much heat._

_Yep. _Waaay_ weird._


	8. Chapter 5: Wind and Ice

**_PRIDE OF KAVAZARA_**

By

Gregory P. Wong

* * *

**Chapter Five: Wind And Ice**

* * *

"Yah!" he heard iceblinker screech. 

Tigron swiveled his head to look at the snow vixen. Well, she had timed it well. He was just finishing his meditation.

Speaking of timing it well, Raezel had woken up a little past noontime, and the desert was cooling a bit. Joy. She wouldn't be doing her rendition of a frying fish again.

"Wha...? Where...?" he heard Raezel stammer.

"You took a nap," he told her, which was more or less true. No need to tell her he had given her a sponge bath while she was _this_ close to dying, right?

It was also good that he had had the foresight to get her back into her armor and everything after her temperature had stabilized. And it was even better that she had awoken today instead of yesterday, so it only looked to her that a few hours had passed. He was a bit tired himself, making sure she didn't go into a relapse in the morning.

"Oh, really," said the snow vixen, rubbing her eyes. "Spiderspit, I've been sleeping in my armor the entire time, huh?"

"Yeah," he answered. Fleacrap. Even to him, his voice was coming out too stiffly. He made extra sure his mind was completely closed

"Whoa, what is this? No shouts of 'iceblinker?'"

Saying nothing looked like the best choice.

Raezel snorted. "Fine, fine, keep your thoughts to yourself." The other Wraith rolled her shoulders. "Weird. Last time I slept in armor, I was stiff as heck. It feels like I've gotten a massage or something."

And right now, a gong should ring, and the choir should start chanting. Spiderspit, the irony was ridiculous.

"That's nice," he said neutrally.

Raezel stared at him... hard. "Okay, what the fark?"

Damn. Well, he wasn't surprised. Raezel was too impulsive, among other things, and the list of why-I-don't-like-Raezel-Snowdance reasons was veritable litany, but stupidity, ignorance, or general denseness weren't on it. Raezel was smart. Had to bluff.

"Nothing the fark... _iceblinker_. We'll be moving out in a minute or too. It's cooling, and we're close to the ice/desert border."

He watched the snow vixen roll her eyes. "Okay, sandscratcher, take me through your realm.

He and Raezel got their stuff in order.

* * *

Well, the walk was pretty uneventful, except he was waiting for Raezel to say something. 

Fortunately, noting seemed to come, so that was that.

Well, Tigron did have to admit that all this ice was freaking him out. Not to mention that it was farking dark save for the farking moon, but even then all the farking ice was a bit much.

The moment he and the other Wraith had left the borderline temperate zone, he just had to notice how _farking freezing_ it was. Really now, he farking expected any farking minute now to see a farking tribe of farking ice statues, not farking ice foxes.

Fleacrap, it was cold.

"Draw your hood tighter around your body, and keep your canteen close to your body."

The frigid temperature was pissing him off severely. "I'm fine, iceblinker."

"Oh, you sand scratching idiot. You wanna freeze into an ice-cube marten and become part of the landscape?"

Obviously, Raezel took his silence as a "no"... which it sort of was.

"Okay, number one. Remember lecturing me in your sand dweller ways about heads and body heat? Guess what? The opposite's true. Keep your head covered as much as possible. Secondly, keep dabbing small amounts of water onto your face."

Water on the face? That made zero sense. "Oh, sure. After that I'll crack my nose off after it's frozen, _right_?"

"_Wrong_, sandscratcher. I'm telling you this so your dry lips don't split and you don't whine me to death."

Wow. That was easily the most obvious lie he'd ever heard... and there were some pretty big whoppers out there.

"And fish will fly overheard, and Wraithlord will come back from the dead to pat me on the back. Please, I've heard five seasons-olds tell better lies than—"

"Holy heck, sandscratcher. I hope you're sunny sand hasn't scrambled your brains so much that you've forgotten I _lived_ around here. Tell me, what place has the driest air you can think of?"

He had this strong urge to scratch his head in puzzlement about why she had asked the question, not the question itself. Maybe he hadn't been perfect at breaking the heat fever. Definitely nuts.

"Where _I_ live. Where else?"

Raezel growled. "_Nope_. There's a place that has drier air, and guess what, you're standing in it."

"Yeah, sure. I see _ice_ flying through the air, and you think it's _dry_ here?"

"Use your brain, sandscratcher," Raezel said angrily. "For being such a meditative sort of beast, you're pretty dense. Think. If all the moisture is frozen into ice, how is the _air_ going to get moist, hmm?"

Uh...

"And while you're pondering that, make sure you don't work yourself into a sweat. For that matter, keep any moisture _away_ from your body. Frostbite is a really nasty thing, you know. Your limbs turn a rather pretty shade of red, then black, and they'll snap off."

"All right. Raezel one, Tigron zero. Happy now, oh Mistress of the Frozen Lands?"

The other lieutenant gave an indignant snort. "Actually, no. The moment you're out of my life would be the time I would be happy."

He shivered, and he didn't think it was the cold. He remembered what _he_ had been thinking only a day ago.

But, oh yes, Raezel Snowdance was making him regret it. Yep, maybe it would have been better to—

No... don't think of that. What was done was done. And somehow, the little anger he felt wasn't... strong enough. He just had too... what? Endure?

Damnation and Hellgates. Life was totally messed up in the head.

He followed Raezel as she maneuvered through the ice fields.

Then he shivered some more. Geez, his little "should-I-have-saved-the-ice-fox" thoughts shouldn't be bothering him that much. Really, now, it wasn't _that_ numbing, was it?

And then his knees started to quake, and it was spreading to the rest of his body.

Oh, no.

He felt himself sink to his knees.

Why was it getting warmer?

But the better question was "what would Raezel do?"

* * *

Oh, damn, what was she going to do? Raezel ran over to where Tigron was lying, and she immediately recognized _really_ bad hypothermia. 

Well, too bad for him. Let him get swallowed up by a blizzard, and boom, no more problems.

"_The completion of the mission supercedes all else_. _If one of you becomes so incapacitated as to be immobile_, t_he other will have to_... _have to abandon the fallen one and continue the mission_."

But... she and Tigron were too... connected for that. Who else but sandscratcher over here could ever, really, understand what had happened. When she had seen...

Damn, those memories were painful. Fleacrap.

But those memories would be her own if Tigron was erased from the picture. Yeah, no one to...

No one to understand her.

But so what? Even sandscratcher had told her, those years ago, that he didn't like her. Well, tough luck for him. He wasn't happy with her, so there wasn't any need to help.

But only he could understand the pain...

She swept off her cloak and wrapped Tigron as best she could. Fleapcrap! There wasn't enough time!

She dug her gloves into a close snowdrift and began to fling snow away. Believe it or not, holes-in-the-snow were excellent for keeping warm.

If the occupants didn't turn into ice cubes while waiting for it to be dug.

Damn, damn, damn.

Finally, it was done. About three feet deep, and something like seven feet in diameter.

She dragged Tigron's shivering body back into the impromptu shelter, and made a really bastardized bed with the blankets. He needed heat... fast. His skin was pale, and he was shivering like mad. His body had just gone crazy, no longer able to keep his temperature high enough. She felt his forehead

Spiderspit! He was freezing!

And it was worse than she had thought.

Yep, heat was needed... and, fun time, only _body_ heat was available.

Ooh, if anybeast back at Bladestone found out about this... geez.

First, that armor had to come off, since leather was a rather poor transfer point for heat.

He was wearing pauldrons, so it was a bit more difficult to get those off. Damn. Tigron's cotton shirt wasn't all that thick, but it still wasn't ideal. She gulped, and unlaced Tigron's shirt. She slipped it off.

My, what broad, strong shoulders he had... and that muscular abdomen... and...

Cripes! She _so_ didn't need those thoughts right now.

But they really couldn't be helped. It was an... awesome body. Muscular, but not too much. Perfectly proportioned and all. Tigron even had a scar running diagonally across his chest, going down towards his left hip.

And he had gotten it from...

Dammit, she had to stop being distracted. Goofing off about Tigron's—admittedly sexy—body was going to get him killed.

Heat...

She hovered over his quaking form.

Oh, Dark Forest...

She hugged him tightly. She wrapped her arms under his, and allowed her body heat—since she was used to the cold, she had plenty to spare—to flow into Tigron.

He should be stopping now... dammit, he wasn't! Somehow, she wasn't transferring enough heat? What could it be?

Oh, spiderspit, her shirt. Thin as it was, it still wasn't providing a good enough medium for her body heat. Tigron was still dying from the cold.

Okay, no, she wouldn't do that. Even a _dying_ Tigron wasn't worth it.

But who else would be, if not him?

She swallowed, hesitated, and unlaced her tunic.

And slipped it off.

Actually, it was less of "slipped it off" and more of "tore it wildly from her body," but that was just the wrong context for this situation. Life and death circumstances had a tendency to mess up contexts. Ugh.

Then she hugged Tigron again. Oh, if anybeast back at Bladestone ever heard about this, she'd _never_ hear the end of it.

It was a really nice body, especially when touching it like this. So strong, so muscular...

Cripes.

Tigron's trembling slowed down a bit, so she was giving him enough heat. And then she felt Tigron's arms encircle her body.

That damned—

No, wait, the other lieutenant wasn't trying to cop a feel here, his body was just acting instinctually by drawing a heat source closer. But it would have been nicer if the heat source wasn't _her_.

She took a closer look at Tigron's face. Strong-featured and handsome, definitely. Good looking, very good looking.

With a face—and a body, yeah—it was easy to why fems back at Bladestone—heck, anywhere—would be kicking, punching, biting, and screaming to get _this _close to Tigron _without _their tunics on

And here she was, half-naked, _hugging_ an equally not-quite-so-clad Tigron... and she didn't even really want it!

The thing was, she understood why others would be fighting. Nice body. Handsome, too.

Oh, fleacrap. This was gonna be one heckuva long night.

* * *

_Tigron did have to admit life was good with Grimtooth, though there were some low parts. For one, even after nearly a season of participating in skirmishes and all that stuff, Grimtooth had yet to let him on one of those major raiding parties. Tanth had never told him what went on those assault excursions, either._

_It was as annoying as heck._

_And there was this weasel, Durtback, who had a serious axe to grind with him. Literally._

_Well, now was not the time to think about it. The horde was traveling up the western coast, south, close to the temperate band. And the beaches here were awesome._

_Most of the hordebeasts were off doing their own things, so it hadn't been hard to find an unoccupied beach. Perfect place for peace, quiet, and practice._

_He finished his meditation and rose to his footpaws, dusting off his clothes. Practice? Nah. Might as well get back to the encampment._

_He maneuvered his way back to the tent area. Odd. Half the camp seemed to be missing. Maybe..._

_Oh, fark. While he'd been at the beach, Grimtooth had gotten the horde assault group together and gone off again. Damn!_

_He hurried back to his tent. If he did this fast enough, maybe he could track them. He found his tent._

_Oh, good, his tentmates were gone. No need to explain what he was doing to them. He hurriedly got his stuff together. Cloak, sword, hunting knife, provisions._

_Wait... where did he put those..._

_Never mind, he could survive a day without those. They made him fat, anyway._

_He dashed out of the tent. There! He could still see the dust cloud. The marauders had a four or so hour head start on him, but nothing a good run couldn't cure. Spiderspit, but it would have to be a fast—_

"_Tigron?" came a familiar voice. Uh-oh, it was Tanth._

"_Uh, yes, sir?"_

"_Where are you going? And you can drop the 'sir'. There's no one who cares around here."_

_What could he say? If Tanth knew, the ferret would just order him to stay. But he didn't _like_ lying on a general principle, and he liked lying to Tanth even less. He respected the ferret officer, maybe even more than he did Grimtooth. Strange how the world worked, huh?_

_Well... looked like honesty won this round._

"_I was leaving to... to follow Chieftain Grimtooth's assault party, Tanth."_

_Tanth was silent. Oh, well, at least he'd tried._

"_Are you aware of the full details of those assault groups, Tigron?"_

_Okay, not the answer he had expected. Roll with it._

"_Er, no."_

_He saw Tanth nod, and he swore he saw a look of sadness in the ferret's eyes._

"_You know what reprisals are?"_

_Where was this going? "Yes. Um, basically attacks mounted on a settlement for revenge, right?"_

"_Yes... and that is exactly what most of Grimtooth's assault bands are for." He noticed that Tanth didn't use the honorific for the horde leader. And besides—Wait._

"_What? Reprisals?"_

"_Tigron, right now Grimtooth and his band are... punishing some warriors and their families in the most painful way possible."_

_Wha...? "You mean...?"_

"_Yes. I don't know where he's going right now, and I don't _want_ to know what Grimtooth does when he gets there. All I know is that Grimtooth has a very..." he noticed that the ferret was looking very uncomfortable right now, "very inventive mind that matches his sadism."_

_Something wasn't adding up... What could it be? Maybe it was the way Tanth looked saddened and disgusted at the same time... wait. That was it!_

"_Tanth, if Grimtooth does such things, why do you follow him?"_

_And that was a major question. Tanth was a... good beast. He didn't think the ferret approved of such tactics._

_So, why was Tanth sticking around?_

"_Tigron Sandstar, listen," he heard Tanth hiss. Oh, fleacrap. He'd never heard Tanth like _this_ before. "Why I continue to serve Chieftain Grimtooth"—he noticed the honorific attachment—"is _my _secret, and _mine_ alone. Is that _clear_?"_

_He gulped. Tanth looked _very_ angry. "Yes, Junior Officer Tanth."_

_He noticed the ferret blink and lose the angry look. Tanth shook his head. "Tigron, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped like that."_

"_It's, uh, okay, sir. I shouldn't have pried like that."_

_Tanth nodded. "They headed off to the east, and by the look of their equipment and provisions, it doesn't look too far. If you hurry, you should catch up with them."_

_Well, that was an obvious send-off. He saluted, and turned to where he still—faintly—saw that dustcloud._

_He heard the ferret speak again. "It was nice knowing you, Tigron. I hope we can meet again, under better circumstances."_

_What? He was going to be gone for a day or two, tops. Whatever. There'd be time to think about that on the way. But still, it was a pretty odd thing to say.

* * *

_

_Not a bad landscape. At least it wasn't ice._

_Tigron was still moving rapidly, trying to keep the dust—no wait, now it was smoke—in sight. Aforementioned dust had transformed into said smoke no more than a few minutes ago. He was still a good thirty minutes away, maybe, so he'd have to run a tad faster to get there._

_Interesting place to wander through, though. A bit greener than he was used to, but here and there were plenty of big rocks, so it wasn't too alien._

_But what was bothering him was that there were plenty of places to set up an ambush. Really now, just hide behind a boulder, and _poof_, instant ambush. Well, that really didn't matter. Who would be trying to—_

_A leg shot out from behind a boulder and tripped him._

_Dammit. Irony sucked._

_He rolled, allowing his shoulder to take the shock. It hurt, but it could have been worse. He rolled onto his back and yanked the longsword out just as something furry and white landed on his chest._

_He felt cold steel at his throat the same time his sword felt resistance of another's. He looked at the neck's owner._

_Oh, heck no._

"BLOODY SPIDERSPIT!_" he roared._

"DAMNED FLEACRAP!_" Raezel screeched back._

_He growled and shoved iceblinker roughly. He got up hurriedly, and he saw the female snow fox jump to her footpaws, too._

_What in _Hellgates_ was she doing here?_

_Okay, calming techniques. Right now there were two very angry beasts—yeah, he was counting himself in the "angry beast" category—with weapons, screaming at each other, which was just begging for all types of unfortunate physical conditions, most of which ended in the loss of body parts and/or the cessation of natural bodily functions. Calm. Let the techniques calm him down. There..._

"_What in _Hellgates_ are you doing here?"_

_Well, at least he'd _tried

"_Me? I should be asking you the same damned thing! Why are you following me?"_

_Well, he could tell iceblinker was asking a valid question. Hmm... He took a look at her mind. It turned out she had run into Tanth first and run off. Well, no need to lie to snow vixen._

"_I saw Grimtooth's group's dust, and I followed! You happy? It was Tanth's idea."_

_He saw iceblinker seemingly deflate, and some of the anger disappear from the snow vixen's mind. His did, too._

_Well, most of it. Okay, part of it. Actually, only a little bit. Geez._

_Iceblinker shook her head. "He told me the same."_

_He rubbed a paw over his face. "Okay, good. Now, iceblinker, I think we should—"_

"_Haul our arses to where Grimtooth is? Sure. Hey, those were _your_ words, so keep that look off your face."_

_Well, joy. Raezel for sure had a talent for reading minds, too. But that was a matter for another day. Time to get going._

"_Well, let's go then."_

"_You go first."_

_He felt adrenaline shock his veins. Spiderspit..._

"_Yeah, sure, why would I want to do _that_?" he muttered. Then he took a brief look at her mind. Oops. He'd just completely misunderstood—_

"_What, you think I want to stab you in the back? Let's see, maybe I'm _tired_, and I'd like a rest, hmm?"_

_He gave an exaggerated shrug. "Okay, I'm sorry. You go rest your poor little footpaws, and I'll track Grimtooth." He turned and started to jog away. Hmm, might as well have the last word. "But, hey, it's not my fault you're too weak to keep the pace. Have fun."_

_He heard Raezel yell something at him, but the snow vixen was too far back._

_He continued on. It wasn't really so bad now, since the ground wasn't littered with small rocks he had to keep dodging around. Damn, that part had been annoying._

_And the dust cloud looked very weird now. It wasn't all gritty and course, but now it looked black and whispy. Oh, drat. It was smoke! Better run harder. Luckily, he was almost there._

_He felt a twinge in his head. Oh, fleacrap, it felt like a bunch of beasts up ahead, and they were... hostile._

_And then a leg shot out from behind a boulder and tripped him._

_What the _heck_ was this? Looks like the legs had become a farking trip-magnet. _

_He rolled, letting his shoulder take a shock. Well, a trick could work more than once..._

_And then he felt several sets of paws pin him down to the ground._

_Guess not._

_Something _extremely_ hard smashed into his right cheek, and stars bounced around. Fleacrap. He felt those same paws—still pinning his limbs—yank him up to his footpaws. Concentrate... get a lock on that mind signature. Who could it—_

_Oh, no._

"_Weel, Tiggy, it be fancy seein' yew here," he heard Durtback say._

_Oh, farking Hellgates no._

"_What do you want, Durtback?" he croaked._

"_Wot yew think, Tiggy?" If that damned weasel didn't quit with the "Tiggy", he was going to beat the living daylights out of him. "Yew know, whens a beast beats me at somethin', I don' be liking it much."_

_Oh, drat. He was angry because of _that_? "Hey, get over it! I beat you _once_, at _sparring_, for crying out loud. When somebeast beats you, it isn't—"_

_And then the stars were back. Ouch. Durfang had just walloped him across the face._

"_Weel, too bad fer yew, Tiggy. I don' like beasts beatin' me. I be thinking it be a good time ta show yew why it be bad to humiliate Durtback."_

_Well, this was going nowhere. "Do your worst."_

_Durtback punched him across the face again. And again._

_And again._

_And then he lost track._

_When it finally stopped, he groaned and looked up. Ouch. His face felt like one big bruise._

_He saw Durtback rubbing his knuckles. "Heh heh. Yew know, Tiggy, Chief Grimtooth's liddle expedition be really fortunate. Yew know, slip away, and wait fer yew."_

_He tried to calm himself, but couldn't manage it. Fark, he was frightened. Yeah, when captured by a beast who had a reputation for being an excellent fighter and a somewhat-torturer, that tended to happen. But guess what? He wasn't going to gibber in front of the weasel._

"_Was that the best you could do? I've felt farking _raindrops_ that hurt more."_

_He watched Durtback crack his knuckles. Well, time for round two..._

"_Wait. I gots a better idea," he heard the weasel say brightly. Oh, joy. He didn't like the sound of that. This couldn't get any worse, could it?_

_With a quick motion, Durtback reached forward and yanked out his longsword._

_Now he didn't like the looks of this, either._

_And yes, it could get worse._

_His sword had been in the family for generations, and it was a damned fine work of art. Intricate bronze hilt, guards that projected at right angles to the blade and thickened and curved bladewards at the ends. Add that to the thin, more-or-less flattened diamond-cross-section blade that had wraithstone engravings, and he had a theft waiting to happen. Spiderspit._

_And that bastard Durtback shouldn't be holding it._

"_Put it back, Durtback," he snarled._

_He heard the weasel chuckle. "Now, why would I wanna do that?"_

_And he barely saw Durtback move._

_Dammit! A line of hot pain burned on his chest. That farking weasel had just sliced him across the chest. It hurt!_

"_Havin' fun, Tiggy?"_

_Oh, yeah, sure, he was _ecstatically_ enjoying this. Damn, how _stupid_ could this weasel be?_

"_It's the annual migration of the snow grouse," he stated. Geez, that slash was hurting like heck. Ignore it._

_He grinned as Durtback wrinkled his face in confusion. "Wot stupid answer be that?"_

"_It's really quite simple: ask a stupid question, get a stupid answer, you moron."_

_Uh-oh. Now Durtback looked royally furious. The weasel walked up until he was right in his face._

_Geez, the other hordebeast smelled bad. And he really didn't like the look on that face._

"_Looks like yew're gonna die real painful-like, Tiggy. And I gots the best idea how ta do it, too."_

_The weasel reached forward and took a hold of his tunic, digging fingers into the cut. Oh, fleacrap. He saw Durtback sneer as he felt his tunic ripped in half._

_Oh, fark, he could see what Durtback wanted to do. No..._

_He pulled on the beasts holding his arms, but they wouldn't budge. Damn! There was even somebeast holdings his thighs tight, so he couldn't even kick. He struggled again._

_"Weel, Tiggy, time to die. See, I is gonna gut yew, and I wanna see yer face when yew see yer guts spill out. It's gonna hurt, Tiggy."_

_He watched the sword draw back._

_And then he heard a whizzing sound, a meaty thunk, a groan..._

_...and he felt the hold on his right arm slacken._

_Only a few seconds..._

_Sintaka was an art that emphasized limb-traps and motion redirection. Now, since the beast on his right wasn't doing the job correctly—meaning he was probably dead, but that was really a minor point—he was overbalanced on his left. The rat on his left was pulling, keeping his arm immobile. For all the farking good it would do._

_Since the rat was happy pulling, _he_ was glad to help the rat along. He lightly pushed the rat back, and with a little twist that broke the hold, "helped" the rat go left. Which meant down. With the same motion, he backhanded the beast behind him. Well, that particular individual was now stunned, since, well, a fist to the side of the head had a tendency to put flashy little stars across the eyes._

_In one motion he ripped the arms from his legs and kicked backwards. It was hard to tell, but Mister Footpaw said the face belonged to a stoat or ferret. Whatever._

_And now, of course, that sword. Durtback, that bastard, was coming at him _his_ sword held in the both paws—the idiot obviously didn't quite get that his longsword was single-pawed—and was aiming at backhand cut at his stomach._

_He sidestepped to the left and shot his left paw forward, banging Durtback's slashing arm and adding to the followthrough. Durtback stumbled, since, of course, he'd added more "swing" than the weasel had probably been expecting. He locked up Durtback's right wrist with his left paw and broke that paw's hold on the hilt. He maneuvered the arm out, so it almost looked like the weasel was going to give him a hug. He rotated so that his right shoulder faced the weasel's face, and slammed his right fist twice into Durtback's chin with two snap-uppercuts. But those were only to stun the weasel. The _real_ attack came when he yanked down on Durtback's arm, making the weasel stumble down, and smashed his elbow up into the descending chin._

_Well, the sword dropped after that little stint. Score._

_He snatched up his weapon. He really, _really_ felt like letting Durtback have it right there, but he wanted the weasel to at least put up a fight. It was more than the prick deserved._

_He watched Durtback stumble around a while, and then he sighed as the weasel drew out a rusty cutlass. Damn. Ugly as the weapon was, Durtback sure as Hellgates knew how to use it. But it wouldn't mean crap, since he was, one, a better fighter, and two, very, very angry. He got into his fighting position and slowly advanced, the sword ticking back and forth. He was just gonna put away the weasel fast. In bloody bits. After taking off the head._

_Yep, very pissed off at the weasel. Even his calming exercises weren't going to help._

"_Wait! That one's mine!" he heard somebeast say angrily from behind him._

_Oh, no, not now._

"_Stay away," he grunted at iceblinker, not turning his head. Drat, what was she doing here? He made sure he kept his voice controlled. "He's mine."_

_Then his mind twinged. Fleacrap. A leg slammed into the backs of his ankles, sweeping his footpaws out from under him._

_He leaped back to his footpaws. Spiderspit, looked like Durtback _was_ iceblinker's._

_And the snow vixen was a good fighter, too. Raezel stood square with her opponent, knees bent slightly, and the twin sickles held high. Not too interesting. What was interesting was when she _moved_. The snow vixen's footpaws were in constant motion, and she... _whirled_. There wasn't a better way to describe it! All of the snow vixen's motions were spinning attacks, horizontal, vertical, and everything in between. It fit Raezel perfectly. And it was... beautiful to watch, too. Raezel was like a sandstorm, swift, shifting, untouchable. It was like the snow vixen was pure reaction, molding to whatever the situation threw at her._

_Definitely Raezel Snowdance._

_Durtback aimed a slash, iceblinker banged it away and dug the point of the right-paw sickle into the weasel's skull._

_Well, that was over quickly._

_He growled and put his longsword back. Spiderspit. His tunic was a definite goner. Oh, well, he could always find another one. It had been getting frayed around the sleeves, anyway._

_He sighed and saw Raezel step over to a dead fox—the others had gotten away, dammit—and pull a throwing knife from the corpse's neck._

_Very nice throw. The knife had come in at an angle that severed the spine when it dug in. Instant kill. Damned nice throw. _

_But it was iceblinker, so he wasn't saying a thing._

"_We're only about fifteen minutes away from the smoke," he heard the snow fox growl. "That is, if you're strong enough. That cut doesn't look deep, but it'll get infected like mad. You're lucky it wasn't that rusty piece-of-crap cutlass that did that. Ever heard of lockjaw?"_

_Oh, great. If irony was a little pin, he'd have been pricked to death yesterday. Spiderspit._

"_I'll be fine, iceblinker." He noticed that the snow vixen's eyes narrowed. Well, good. "Let's move to the rocks near the perimeter. You're _sure_ it's a tent settlement, right?"_

_Iceblinker snorted. "No, since that's why I'm only _thinking _it. By the way, nice to know you can see into me head."_

_He sighed. Well, just keep the mind closed and it would be fine._

"_Fine, I'm fine. Let's get going."_

_But wait. He really didn't feel like doing this, but..._

"_Hey."_

"_What?"_

_Oh, well, he had to get it out of the way. Geez, was he _really_ doing this._

"_Thanks for saving me."_

_He saw that Raezel was just staring at him. Then the snow vixen turned back towards the smoke._

"_Yeah, whatever. But we're even now, sandscratcher."_

_But, somehow, that didn't come out as hotly he had thought it would._

_He and iceblinker went on for a bit, until they were at the perimeter of the burning tent settlement. He and iceblinker ducked behind a large rock._

_It was a bit creepy how quiet it was, but he didn't come here for nothing. He nodded to iceblinker, and jumped out from behind the rock._

_Im... Impossible!_

_This was just a nightmare. It had to be. This couldn't be real. Any second now Mother would wake him up and comfort him, and Father would smile and make sure he was doing the calming excercises correctly, and little Zef would poke fun at him._

_That was the only reasonable explanation. It was the only sane one._

_But cold logic told him he wasn't dreaming, that this was real, undeniably, triple-damned, burning-Hellgates real._

_Out in front of the camp, he saw seven tall, thick wooden poles sticking into the air. Attached were... No..._

_One had the still bloody body of a sand marten. Father's wrists were crossed over his head, and a thick nail was stuck—Hellgates—through the wrists and into the wood. Dark Forest, Father was secured by thick ropes lashed around the wood._

_The others... Mother. Zef. Raezel's parents. Raezel's brother and sister. Fleacrap, behind those seven, deeper in the camp, were many dozens more..._

_He collapsed to his knees._

_And some were on fire._

_This couldn't be real, because if it was, if he kept looking at the battered bodies of a loving family—Spiderspit, _two_ loving families—he was going to go completely, irrevocably, numbingly mad. Spiderspit, it was too much, too much!_

_Anywhere, look anywhere but at... at... that!_

_Look at..._

_He wordlessly drew his arms around Raezel Snowdance and hugged her close. Focus on Raezel... on her pretty face, on the tears, on those piercing blue eyes... anything but that!_

_He felt the snow vixen's shuddering arms wrap around him too. Of course... he wasn't the only one trying to stave off the horror._

_Dammit, his calming exercises were as helpful as dirt right now, but he had to try. He had to try to shut it out... before something happened._

"_Hey! Wot're yew doin' here?" he heard a whining voice grate out._

_What...?_

"_Ne'er mind. Yew be jus' stragglers, eh? A bit late, since the fighting an' fun be long done. No torturin' or treasure fer yew tew, heh heh."_

_Fun? Oh, Dark Forest. He felt anger, hot boiling anger, begin to seep into his body._

"_Wha... what happened here?" he heard Raezel croak. Did he want to hear the answer?_

"_Oh, weel, yew know how it works. Chief Grimtooth be wanting tribute from there sand marten and snow fox tribes, and they refused it. So, when the chief went an' sent a buncha beasts ta go and collects it, them idiots beat off tha collection team. Weel, Chief Grimtooth came back ta personally fix these stupid beasts. Heh heh, yew don' mess wid the chief."_

_Something wasn't right._

"_But wait. How did... how did Grimtooth find our families"—Fleacrap, he had let it slip whose family they were—"since we've kept ourselves hidden so well?"_

"_I dunno 'bout the details, but the chief did said that some new beasts came ta camp one day. The chief tracked down tha families, since he saw them new beasts were good fighters and though' they would be havin' treasures. Not so much, but a nice amount." The fox rubbed his nose and pulled out a flint. "Well, time ta light them up, heh heh."_

_No..._

"_You're not going to burn or families," he heard Raezel growl. If he had been the fox and he had heard _that_ tone, he would have turned around and walked away very quickly. As in run._

_But the fox wasn't him._

_Now the fox was both ugly _and _mean-looking._

"_Yew know wot? Wes gonna torch those bodies, an' yews'll like't. Yew be happy that the chief won' have yew two lit up, too."_

"_You. Will. Not. Touch. Our. Families," he snarled. "And you can tell that motherfarking bastardized_ arsehole _Grimtooth to go _screw_ himself."_

_Now the fatty fox was very angry. The ugly lump drew out an axe and stepped forward. So did the other dozen hordebeasts._

_He drew his sword, and..._

_What... how...?_

_He suddenly found himself standing on top of a bloody body. Actually, a whole bunch of them._

_That's what happened. It had gone so quickly, in a bloody blur. He looked at Raezel again. Bloody sickles, bloody sword... a nightmare._

_But this was much, much worse than any nightmare. There wasn't any way to wake up from this one. All those calming exercises were worthless._

_The rest passed in a blur. Taking down the... the... the bodies. Burying them. Finally letting the shock hit. Collapsing into Raezel's arms as he wept uncontrollably. Feeling Raezel's tears. Leaving. Deciding on Bladestone._

_And starting a new life.

* * *

_

_Lieutenant! Finally, after two seasons of the academy, he was a Wraith lieutenant!_

_But so was iceblinker. Damn._

_Still, though, a lot had happened in those two seasons. He and iceblinker were the youngest Wraiths, at only seventeen. It had been a humongous shock to find out he—well, _they—_had Wraith potential. Geez, he'd been hoping to be a Pathfinder, and heck, he got this instead._

_Better yet, he'd somehow even gotten the interest of an old expert fighter, Colonel Drak Summerscythe. Well, "gotten the interest" was an understatement, since the colonel had given him a beautiful, deadly, wraithstone-inlaid scythe, Dusk, as soon as he'd learned to use it alongside his sword._

_But that _still_ didn't tell the whole damned story. Dusk had been Summerscythe's. Really neat._

_And to top it off, some of the ridiculously skilled weaponsmiths had enhanced his sword. To some extent. It had been just a couple runic wraithstone etchings on the blade. But, yes, it was a big change. That longsword was now Dawn._

_Dawn and Dusk were his._

_There wasn't anything planned today, since he was off duty. Thinking was a good thing to do now, wasn't it? It was calming, at least. As long as he wasn't bothered, that is._

_He sighed, drew out Dawn and detached Dusk, and put them blades first into the earth. Behind him, the massive Bladestone walls—massive, somehow, just really didn't describe those walls—cast a shadow. It was, what, a little past noon?_

_He let his breath grow deep and slow, and—_

_Fleacrap._

"What do you want_?" He mindspoke to iceblinker. What was she doing here?_

"I want to talksandscratcher_." Was that anger in her voice? Now what?_

"Well, go aheadI_'_mnot going anywhereiceblinker_."_

_He heard footpaws padding up behind him. He really wanted to turn around, but no, better not appear nervous to the snow vixen. Besides, what could she do? Geez, he must be getting ragingly paranoid around her. Spiderspit._

"If it wasn't for standing regulations_," he heard Raezel start. The mindvoice stopped, and then he heard Raezel speak out loud. "I'd have killed you by now."_

_What?_

"_Don't act surprised, and don't play dumb, you prick," he heard Raezel hiss. "I just had this _stunning_ revelation."_

_He felt himself bristle. "Oh, what would that be?"_

"_Hey, you didn't ever touch my family directly, so that makes you lower on my list than Grimtooth, nut you know what? They wouldn't have been killed if it wasn't for you."_

_Okay, this was getting out of paw. "All right, this is getting stupid. Either shut up, or get the heck out of my space."_

"_Why?" iceblinker growled again. "I wanted to go to Bladestone when I was young, remember? You ever think that because I was a 'stupid farmer vixen' I'd abandon that idea and go to some arsehole like Grimtooth?"_

_This was the... _stupidest _thing he'd ever heard. "Fine, if you've suddenly gone nuts on me, fine. But, you know—" he trailed off._

_Wait. If...?_

_He snarled. "It works both ways, iceblinker. I wanted to be a Pathfinder."He spun around and leaped to his feet. "Maybe _you_'_re _the one who killed our families. Did you ever think about that?"_

_He watched iceblinker snarl. "Don't be blaming me for what _you _did, you farking _bastard_."_

_What, now the snow fox had tunnel vision? Typical idiotic iceblinker. "How about it being _your _fault, you farking blame-laying moron. I kind of miss my family."_

_Damn. Now Raezel was having thoughts of bloody—very bloody—murder. Well, so did he._

_But if Raezel so much as twitched towards those sickles on her back, there would be death. Oh yes, very ugly death._

_Or... maybe. Iceblinker's had those sickles connected to a combination staff/baton set that would be ugly as Hellgates to face off against. Frost, was it? Whatever. He just knew Raezel was bloody good with it._

_Maybe now would be the time to kick in the calming techniques._

"_What's done is done," he grated, "and chopping each other won't do one single farking thing. So try this: go run off and play with your litle precious beanball, and just _stay the fark away_ from me."_

_He spat, stowed his weapons, and walked off. Well, iceblinker was speechless. Or, probably, the snow vixen was just too furious to talk back. Who cared?_

_But, somehow, saying those words to Raezel left this really bad ache in his stomach. But... things happened._

_The less he saw the snow vixen, the better._

_Right?_

_Why did it hurt to think that?

* * *

_

"Ahh!" Raezel heard Tigron yelp. She turned around and saw that the sand marten wad sitting up on his own blanket.

Goody, the other lieutenant was up. Hopefully she'd replaced the armor well enough that Tigron wouldn't notice what had, well, happened last night.

It had been tough as Hellgates to manage that hypothermia. Luckily, Tigron didn't run into anything worse, and was stabilzed by morning. The sand marten had come a couple inches away from freezing to death. Well, it was morning now,so there wasn't a chance Tigron Sandstar wouldn't become Tigron the Icecube.

"Well, hope you had a good sleep. We're moving as soon as you'd like to."

"Sure, sure, iceblinker. Whatever you say."

"Well, great. Let's uh, get ready to move."

Fleacrap, this wasn't going well. She was sounding way too uppity. Cripes.

She watched Tigron swipe a paw across his face. Uh-oh.

"This is really weird, but I can't remember what I did yesterday." good, Tigron thought only a few hours had passed. Phew. "Spiderspit, this is damned annoying. Ah, fleacrap, hopefully it'll pass after a while."

Good. The other Wraith had been in la-la land the entire time, so he wasn't going to find out that she had—

"But I do remember having a dream where somebeast was huggng me. Drat, that's weird."

Oh, spiderspit. A very large gob of spiderspit. Well, time to act like "iceblinker."

"Well, good for you."

Okay, was that a suspicious look Tigron had now?

"Okay, something's up. For one, you're one perky iceblinker today. Number two... I can't put a finger on it. How about you just tell me, oh Ice Queen."

This was just great. Plus, this wasn't a surprise. Tigron sure loved to go all meditative, but the sand marten wasn't dumb. Very far from it, really. Well, she just had to play this smart.

"Just you're freeze-dried brain acting _funny_, sandscratcher. Now, how about you pack your stuff and go, so I won't have to watch you turn into Tigron Iceblock."

She heard Tigron grunt, and she and the other lieutenant got the equipment squared away.

Now... on to Mossflower! Hooray!

Yeah, yeah.

Well, the walk to the southern ranges wasn't hard, and Tigron didn't say a word either. Great.

Now just the future to worry about. Cripes.


	9. Chapter 6: Rising Tension

**_PRIDE OF KAVAZARA_**

By

Gregory P. Wong

* * *

**Chapter Six: Rising Tension**

* * *

Screams. Phantoms. Horrible monsters. Shapes darkening the sky. A white vixen. A sandy-brown marten. Ice. Sand. A massive citadel. Mouse warrior. Whirling madness. Swarms of deformed beasts. Two rats. Wildcat. Strange, horrible creature. Whispering death from the sky. Bodies everywhere. Fireball, rending the sky. Volcano. Badger. Abbey. Hares. Smaller castle. Vengeance. Squirrels. Mist creeping over the land. 

Death, so much death!

Poison.

Evil.

Shadow, terrible blackness, consuming light.

Consuming...

The vixen Bloodmoon, subcaptain of the Nighthunt's Nightclaws, sat up in shock. She sobbed, and buried her face in her paws.

Hellsteeth, this was unbecoming of an officer, and a Nightclaw officer at that! These tears had to stop.

But they wouldn't. Hellgates, this ability to see what the future held was indeed a gift. Her gift.

Her curse.

More salty drops fell. Damnation! She had to get a grip on herself!

But the horror... It was... too much. So horrible.

She felt a strong, familiar arm wrap around her body and draw her close to a muscular torso. The paw massaged her shoulder in a very soothing manner.

"Shh, Bloodmoon. It was only a dream. I'm here for you, love."

She felt another paw gently cup her chin and turn her face to the left. In the moonlight that streamed through holes in the tent, she just barely made out the visage of her mate, Bladefall Lothame, another fox, and captain of the Nightblood assassins/infiltrators.

Bladefall was a good-looking fox, though many commented that he looked a bit "tough." Of course, that didn't, quite, fully describe her mate. Bladefall _was_ tough, but the other fox was much more. Bladefall was as loyal to the Nighthunt chieftain, Kiern, as any Nightclaw, and her mate had actually managed to emulate Kiern's way of speaking. It was still distinctly Bladefall, but it was several steps up from the accents of the other Nighthunt beasts.

Of course, there was more.

While Bladefall was incredibly mature for his age—she remembered six seasons ago, when Bladefall's family had been recruited not long before the wolverine Nightdeath Longclaws' death at the paws of the squirrel Riala Goldentail—her mate had this enthusiasm and curiosity befitting a kit half his age, despite her mate only being two seasons younger than her. That good-natured energy had first drawn her to him two seasons ago, and, naturally, one thing had led to another.

Bladefall also had his own burdens to deal with. Only a season ago, her mate's father, Swiftaxe, and grandsire, Shade Venant, had departed for Dark Forest. In addition, Bladefall also had a younger sister, Loamstar, in the company of the horde.

She and he both helped each other cope with the problems. Her clairvoyance was just that more bearable with Bladefall.

"Aye, I know. You're always here for me, Bladefall." It was so nice to touch him. She put her head against the male's muscle-hard shoulder. "The visions have departed. Thank you."

She heard Bladefall chuckle. Now she felt a paw stroking her cheek. "Come on, Bloodmoon, you know you don't have to thank me for this. I just do what a loving mate should do."

What was that fluttering in her heart? Obvious. It was that incredible love she had for her mate.

She loved him so much.

"Oh, Bladefall... how could I bear to live without you?" she murmured. Goodness, were those _more_ tears she felt rolling down her cheek? Of course, these were much different.

She took another look at her mate. Like all other Nightbloods, Bladefall had fangs and claws painted red. They matched quite nicely with that fur...

And that look in those eyes? Simple. Love, unadultered, unconditional love for her.

"Oh, silly me," she heard her love say tenderly. "You're crying again. Mayhaps you'd better get back to sleep. I think you have an hour or so before sunrise."

Sleep would be nice, but...

"I do not think I can fall asleep, again. The dream was... bad this time."

She watched concern appear on her mate's face.

"Are you sure you're fine?"

She nodded.

"Well, what can we do then?" Bladefall said reflectively. That was another thing. If she was in any sort of distress, Bladefall would sacrifice his own comfort to help her. She did the same, and doing less would not satisfy her. "We can't sleep, it's too early to wander about, and it's a bit of a wait. Unless..."

Oh, dear. It was _that_ tone of voice again.

Not that she minded. Quite the opposite.

"What _do_ you have in mind?" she purred. She let her paw wander along Bladefall's side.

"I'd explain, but, all things considered, I think _showing_ would be superior to _telling_."

Oh, were those paws caressing her flank and back? She grinned and planted a _moderately_ passionate kiss on her mate's lips.

"Oh, really?" she asked after she got her lips unlocked.

The male smiled widely. "Aye, indeed."

Somehow her grin grew even bigger as Bladefall guided her back down to the bed.

* * *

The stoat Kiern, chieftain of the Nighthunt mercenary horde, yawned and sat up as faint light slightly brightened the tent walls. 

Just a few minutes after dawn. Excellent.

Another beast yawned. Oh, Hellsteeth. She deserved her rest. Perhaps he had better learn to better... wake up? Strange thought. But he had better stop disturb—

"You know, Kiern, stop worrying. I find rising early to have its advantages," said his mate, Astarte Darkmoon. He watched her sit up and rub her eyes.

Like him, she was also a stoat, but ginger-red where he was a lightish brown.

She was the captain of the twenty-odd Nightclaws, his personal guard. And apparently, a psychic. What a thought.

"Are my expressions _that_ easy to read?"

Astarte smiled crookedly. "Kiern, I've been 'with' you for six seasons. I hope I can at least know when you're feeling guilty."

Ah, the jokes could go on and on. "So you can know when another fem has caught my eye?"

His mate snorted. "No, of course not. I—" The captain stopped for a moment, and she looked like she was mulling something over. "You know, that's actually a good idea. I'll have to remember that."

He let himself grin. "Oh, no. Why can't I keep my mouth shut?"

"You tell me. However, I meant to say knowing when you're guilty is good so I can make sure it's not misplaced." His mate's voice became serious. "You're such a good beast, Kiern."

"I'm only like this because of you and the others. I'd be nothing without you, my love." He gave a mock smirk. "I've only told you this tenscore times already."

It was true. Ah, those days of being Longclaw's Nightclaw commander. During that rather confused period, he'd crammed his feelings of honor into a metaphorical trunk so his sense of duty to Longclaws could survive without any qualms.

And then, on that fateful day six seasons ago, he'd finally broken from the misplaced loyalty he had chained himself with, giving Longclaws a chance to die the honorable death the chieftain hadn't deserved.

And he could not have done that with the help of others, most importantly two stoat females and a vixen.

Skyfire... He still remembered that somewhat self-conscious stoat who had been his subcaptain. Skyfire had loved him, and he was sure he had loved her, but his single-minded subservience to the wolverine had suffocated _anything_ that could have happened. Skyfire had left him and the Nighthunt rather than see him, the stoat she loved, lose his own soul to the honorless void of Longclaws. But, _Hellgates_! His blind sense of duty had been the fem's _death_ _sentence_! Skyfire had died, tortured to death by Longclaw's nemesis, Riala Goldentail.

At least her death was not in vain, though. It had provided something—Hellgates, what a _something_—to pull him away from those chains.

Next was Bloodmoon, the somewhat eerie seer vixen. Those seemingly-blind eyes had seen all too well, intuitively and clairvoyantly. The vixen had cast doubt into his mind... and had pointed him towards Astarte.

Astarte Darkmoon... he'd had mixed feelings towards the former Nightfang commander. While no doubt a good fighter and leader, the fem had had... unsavory habits. Seasons only knew how many times he had referred to his future mate as a... whore, open to any and all. Astarte had been—still was!—in possession of a seductively attractive body—which was, of course, at the peak of fitness—and beautiful, sultry features. Aye, Astarte hadn't been afraid to use that body to get what she wanted, and that had earned his contempt.

Of course, there was much more to the stoat fem than that. Who could have known a beast like his mate could actually have _love_ and _tenderness_ deep down inside?

Well, _he_ hadn't known, until it had nearly cost him his very soul.

Now, Astarte had lost interest in chasing other beasts. Believe it or not, the female's heart belonged to one beast.

Him.

And that was reciprocated by him as well. He desired no other beast, and not just for physical reasons. Aye, he loved her dearly.

Astarte, bodyguard, mate, heartfelt friend, and confidante.

"Blame my bad memory," replied his mate. The humorous thing was, she had a _perfectly_ clear memory. She'd developed a sense of humor. It did help counteract his pesky seriousness, after all.

"I will, when you get one."

He watched his mate grin widely, yawn, stretch languidly, and sink back down to the collection of blankets that served as a bed. Oh.

"Now, it's still a _bit_ early. What do you have planned for today, oh chieftain?"

He chuckled. "Not _that_, Astarte. I have to meet with the captains and subcaptains of the Nighthunt. I think it be prudent to head back down south, as work here is becoming scarce."

He saw Astarte put on a mock disappointed grin. "Fair enough, Keirn. But..." He watched his mate sit up and—felt, now—press her body to his. He gazed at a paw that snaked out and jabbed his bare torso with a finger. "When you and the rest of us are done," finger, "and the Nighthunt is settled in for the night, you," finger, "and I," finger, "are going to spend some time together." Finger. "And we are going to enjoy it," finger, "since we haven't had the time to do so, understood?" Finger.

"Yes, ma'am, most enthusiastically." He reached forward and affectionately ruffled Astarte's ears. "Though I hardly think five days qualifies as a 'long' time, no?"

He saw Astarte shrug. "You never _do_ complain..."

Actually, most definitely, the opposite.

He smiled, gave Astarte a kiss, rose, and helped his mate out of the little blanket nest.

"Now, I think we had better get dressed."

* * *

Kiern looked over at his assembled captains and subcaptains, arrayed around the tent in a circular fashion. 

Hellgates, with the flaps closed, this tent would become a veritable oven in no time. Well, that just meant this meeting would have to be competed quickly, no?

"I assume everybeast here has a basic idea about what this meeting concerns." All nodded. Excellent. This would go fast.

Sitting directly to his right were his Nightclaw leaders, his Astarte and Subcaptains Bloodmoon and Jrok, vixen and male rat, respectively. Astarte shifted a bit in her seat. Six seasons ago, at the battle of Castle Floret, his mate had taken a grievous wound that left her right leg with a small but noticeable limp. Astarte was still an excellent fighter, only outclassed by himself, however. Limp or no limp.

They represented the score of Nightclaw elite warrior bodyguards. Astarte only selected the cream of the Nighthunt's crop, which, obviously, made perfect sense. No half-witted or slow-pawed beasts were getting the honor of guarding the chief, after all. The elite warriors were marked by their black cloaks and banner of white claws emblazoned on a black shield set on a blue field.

"Aye, Chief. Ah ken guess th' werk here be dryin' up," he heard a heavily-accented voice say.

He nodded to the voice's owner, a rather scruffy male ferret who sat on Astarte's right, Swiftblade. Swiftblade had his subcaptain, a weasel female named Birchtail.

Swiftblade commanded the twoscore Nightfangs, the general warriors of the horde. At one point they'd only numbered the standard twenty, but because of their grueling and hazardous duty—first into battle, last out—he'd had their numbers set to forty. Nightfangs were identified by their red gloves and banner of white fangs set upon a black field.

He nodded to the ferret. Swiftblade was a fine beast, despite the rumpled appearance. The captain had once been a Nightclaw until he had offered the beast the commission for Nightfang captain.

"Exactly, Captain," he said to the ferret. With the somewhat dubious exception of those brigands we were hired to eliminate"—that had been _interesting_ indeed—"we have not had substantive commissions. I think it be best for us to go back south."

"It sounds like a good plan, sir," he heard a commander agree.

Bladefall Lothame the fox, captain of the Nightblood, the speaker sat to his left. Beside Bladefall was a female weasel, Slyvis, and a male stoat, Patcheyes, the subcaptains.

The score of Nightbloods were the covert assassins of the horde. However, under the leadership of the young fox captain, the assassins were _changing_. The Nightbloods now also undertook high-risk espionage, as well as sabotage, in addition to their... normal duties.

Well, _that_ was necessary sometimes. A single blow could end a war before the first battle was joined.

The assassins were easily identified by their red-dyed fangs and claws, and their banner of a deadly-looking dagger on a gray field.

"Thank you, Captain. Any more comments? Captain Haartigo? Captain Dersa?"

He saw the captains shake paws in negative gestures.

Seated more or less opposite him was the Nightarms captain, the rat male Haartigo, and the ferret male twins, Diptail and Slicktail. The Nightarms were all beasts who preferred ranged weapons. Since they also deployed siege engines, they were obviously established wood-workers, as well. For the most part. One particular fox didn't seem to know the difference between a siege ladder and a catapult, but that was an isolated case.

The Nightarms were denoted by their bracers and their crossed-black-arrows-on-a-gold-plain banner.

Next to Haartigo was Captain Dersa, accompanied by Subcaptain Loamstar Lothame. The female weasel and vixen were the officers of the Nighteye scouts and skirmishers.

The Nighteyes servd as advanced scouts for the horde, their stealth abilities unmatched by even the Nightblood. Unlike the Nightblood, though, the Nighteyes only operated in the open field or in small settlements. It was Nightbloods who stole into castles and other fortifications.

Nighteyes also served the roles of trackers and skirmishers, meaning they held off a surprise attack until the Nightfangs were ready.

The Nighteyes had no distinctive uniform, which, on second thought, was a distinctive marking, and their banner was a blue eye one a white field.

And it was just an added bonus that the Nighteyes were all well versed in many different aspects. Nighteys were perhaps the most useful outside of combat.

"When will we be breaking camp, sir?" he heard Loamstar ask. "I ask so Captain Dersa and I can prepare some sort of vanguard."

A good question, and prudent suggestion.

"I hope to be on our way two hours after we adjourn, Subcaptain. I want the beasts to eat before we march."

He didn't hear any more notes or see raised paws, so that was that. It was time to get prepared to go south.

Whatever that entailed...

* * *

"'Redwall Abbey,' is it?" Tanth heard Grimtooth mutter reflectively. "Sounds like a very nice place, don't it?" 

"I've heard quite a bit about it, sir," he replied to Grimtooth. "Though most of what I heard is not exactly positive for beasts such as us."

He watched the massive stoat roll his eyes. Grimtooth was as large as ever, but now he noticed that the stoat was beginning to develop a paunch. In any case, the black-furred stoat chieftain was imposing to look at.

He and the chieftain were in the command tent, where Grimtooth usually was when not roving about. Since he was now the highest-ranking officer in the horde—and he was one of the younger officers, too!—he was privy to most of Grimtooth's decisions.

And, in some cases, ire.

"Meaning what?"

He cleared his throat. "Meaning, sir, that Redwall has repulsed any and all attempts to take it. I don't like the looks of it, sir."

He heard the stoat chuckle. "Were any of those others _mine_, Senior Officer Tanth?"

What could he say to that? "No, sir, they were not."

"And that would prove that only _my_ warband can take the place." He watched Grimtooth put on a reflective look. "I hear it's loaded with treasure, and their greatest possession is a badger-forged magical sword that's rumored to be unbreakable."

Perhaps nothing would be the best thing to say.

He noticed Grimtooth was looking at him intently. Perhaps the chief was—

"I can see you still don't like the idea, Tanth."

Yes, the Chief was studying him again.

"No, sir, I don't."

"Because...?"

Goodness, how to articulate this? "There are plenty of less defended marauder bands roving around the Mossflower region, sir. Waylaying them would be much easier, and would take much less time."

The chief put on a grin. "Ah, Tanth my conscience, always seeking the path of least blood." Now he noticed Grimtooth was grinning in a fashion that was completely not friendly. "But that Redwall treasure will be mine, Tanth. You will follow my commands._ Do you understand me_?"

Damnation. That attempt hadn't worked out well. In addition... "Sir, I understand fully." He let some bite into his words and tone. "However, I find it a_ serious slight_ that you question my loyalty to you, sir. I have always carried out your orders to the best of my abilities, regardless of my personal feelings, and that will not change. _Sir_."

He looked at Grimtooth, who was staring emotionlessly at him.

"Fair enough, Senior Officer, fair enough," said the stoat, smiling thinly. "That was a bit hasty of me. My apologies."

He nodded. Any other beast who had said that to Grimtooth would have been missing a throat right now.

"Now then, I'm a bit hungry. You?" Grimtooth asked him.

"No, sir. I'm fine."

Grimtooth nodded. He watched the black-furred stoat chieftain turn towards a back division of the tent. "Veredia, serve me something!"

He winced. Veredia's status was another thing that he wanted to change in Grimtooth.

He heard the flaps dividing the two sections of the large tent swish aside. He turned to look.

Hellgates, what did Grimtooth _do_ to her?

There had probably been a time—no, not "probably." It was _definitely_—that this emerald-eyed, golden-furred ferret had been stunningly beautiful.

Had been.

Whatever Grimtooth did to the slave it had made her a not-quite-emaciated, bruised, welted, barely-dressed, timid wreck.

But seasons, there were still shadows

"Yeh... yes, sir?" he heard Veredia stammer.

"Well, where's my food? I have a tendency to get cranky when I'm hungry, Veredia, so I suggest you get me something to eat. We wouldn't want the whips and chains again, _would we_?"

Yes, Grimtooth definitely used the poor ferret female for more than serving dishes. Hellgates. The curse of having a pretty face...

And the curse of being captured by Grimtooth.of beauty in that suffering face. Grimtooth... why?

He watched the female slave quiver for a heartbeat, and then he forced himself to look away. The quick swish said that Veredia had fled the tent to get the chief something to masticate.

Damnation.

He heard the chief chuckle. "I have nothing else to say, Tanth. You're dismissed."

Why was his throat so blasted dry?

He nodded, saluted, and left the tent.

Had to keep he mind off what had happened. Perhaps... a logistical review. Yes, that would be good.

The horde numbered... what? Twelve and a half score? About that. For the most part, each beast was reasonably intelligent and skilled with a given weapon. Grimtooth's horde had been the scourge of the northeast plains.

And now it was heading south.

In any case, Redwall would be receiving a very nasty surprise soon.

* * *

"Ah, surprise, surprise an' all, ol' chap, wot," he heard the hare colonel announce. Ah, yes, Lucio. 

Felblade, Badger Lord of the mountain fortress Salamandaston looked up from his current task, which was polishing his halberd. The blasted spot near the bottom of the spearhead refused to come out!

"Surprise, Lucio?"

"Exactly, doncha know. We have, oh, 'bout ten days before th' new recruits arrive, wot."

He sighed. "Wonderful, Lucio. Hopefully this time we'll have a promising batch again."

"I'd count on it, sah. Th' scouts we sent out t' take a peep are as blinkin' stringent as blinkin' daylights. We'll get a lot o' promisin' recruits, sah."

Fortunate.

It was quite well known that the badger rulers of ages past carved out... messages on hidden, meandering halls that crisscrossed Salamandastron. Indeed, it had been known that his predecessor, Firesight, had once been discovered by some Lera or another to be actually _painting_ murals on some forgotten wall _in his sleep_.

Indeed, very interesting. The paintings and carvings had an eerie tendency to come true, as well.

If it held true for what he had seen, they were going to need _any_ competent hare in the Long Patrol. The total Long Patrol was fast approaching one thousand fighting hares.

But... would it be enough to outlast the approaching storm? Ah, _that_ was the question.

"I hope so, Lucio."

He sighed and took a look at his halberd. Ah-hah! The spot was gone! Now his weapon was immaculate once more. And what a weapon! The halberd was at least ten feet long, with a heavy, broad axe-blade attached underneath the spearhead, backed by a spike. A very powerful weapon.

But again, would it be enough?

The paintings said no.

He'd seen the paintings of a badger with his distinctive, jagged stripe lying prone on the ground, bloodied beneath heavy plate armor, surrounded by piles of _something_. The landscape was not recognizable, but the forms of red-armored vermin, and mice, hares, squirrels and others most emphatically were.

Death in battle was inevitable. Fate did not lie. And that was a sobering thought.

However, he was happy to embrace his fate. Dying in battle... a sad death, yet a glorious one.

And neither day nor hour was known, so he would just have to meet it head on.

"Sah? Sah? I've lost you," he heard Colonel Lucio say.

Goodness... "Sorry, Colonel."

He glanced at Lucio, who was toying with the mustache Long Patrol officers were fond of. "Bad form, bad form, Felblade, sah. No bally 'pologies needed. We all know badgers have plenty on their bloomin' plates, wot."

He just nodded. Plenty on the plate... If Lucio knew of the painting in that musty passage, the colonel would lock him up and eat the key. He respected that loyalty.

He rose, and motioned for Lucio to accompany him. It was time for lunch, and that hare appetite would make itself insistently known.

This was going to have to be taken carefully.

"No, no, Cana, you must parry down when an opponent strikes at you in that fashion," Malaya Oakrune heard her husband, Malcan, lecture patiently to their daughter, Canaya.

Oh, little Cana was growing so fast. Even at just past six seasons, her daughter looked so... what? Like her? Not completely. Cana was an attractive mix of her and her husband's features, and it looked quite good. But Cana did seem to have inherited her crimson-gold tail, though. It was a striking contrast to her little one's tawny fur.

"Sorry, daddy. I forgot."

"No, no, you don't need to apologize, Cana. This is just a little training, after all. I just wish to give you some basic training before I hand you off to Brookrudd's capable paws."

"Indeed. But will our daughter have much to learn after this?"

Malcan turned to look at her and grinned. "You are too kind m'love. And you too are an accomplished swordsbeast! Between the both of us, Brookrudd will have nothing to teach!"

She beamed.

_King_ Malcan was such a shameless flatterer... and they'd been married for six seasons already!

The immense Castle Floret seemed a bit large for only three royal squirrels and the local guardian force of seventy-five otters. In any case, her husband and daughter took this place for granted. This hadn't always been her place.

Oh, those days of being some quaint traveling warrior-in-training under the tutelage of Riala Goldentail! Those days of being a Wander of Mossflower, too. And, how could the memories of fighting side by side with Malcan against the hordes of the Nighthunt be forgotten?

Those memories were better than older, far more painful ones. But, with Malcan and that little bundle of joy that was her daughter, _those_ could be forgotten.

Such fortune...

She fingered the hilt of her short rapier absentmindedly. There were remembrances surrounding this weapon, as well.

"Perhaps Cana would take a rest while _we_ spar. We haven't had time recently, after all. Is this admissible, daughter?"

"Of course, mom."

She watched Malcan give a little salute to Cana and place the blunted training saber on a rack at the back of the little training room at the northern end of Floret. She smiled as Malcan retrieved his own weapon, a two-pawed broadsword. It was a big brother to the little arming sword she and Riala had found Malcan with those seasons ago. My, how time flew by...

Her husband was a kingly, charismatic squirrel, somebeast who was an excellent choice for Southsward's throne. Malcan was a bit less impatient than she was, yes, but she supposed that was a good thing. It would do no good for Southsward to have a jittery thing like her at the helm with nobeast to temper her!

She smiled warmly as she watched her daughter head towards the back of the training room, place the training saber next to Malcan's, and sit crosslegged, intently watching.

"Watch carefully, Canaya. You are about to witness the swordplay of Castle Floret's greatest swordbeast." Malcan looked at her and winked. Oh, Malcan. "And I find it most fortunate that I am married to her!"

She gave a sigh. "Malcan, you're impossible."

The king gave an exaggerated bow—complete with flourish, of course—and took up the large broadsword. It was about five feet long, from tip to pommel, and very exquisitely decorated.

Humph. Malcan was anything _but_ incompetent with that blade. Yes, yes, Malcan was a deadly fighter belied by that always smiling face.

She saluted with Skyfire, and she saw her husband return the gesture.

And then she stepped forward, pointing her rapier at her husband... opponent. Her sword was a very fast weapon, light and deadly sharp. It was a bit unusual, but Skyfire had a ricasso-ring and a space in the basket hilt where her index finfer could slip through. By slipping her finger into the ring, she placed the rapier into a nice, crisp fencing hold, extending the reach and thrusting power of the weapon, since it wasn't perpendicular to her arm when held like this. The ricasso—where ever had that name come from?—was the unsharpened edge of the sword immediately above the guard, which allowed a swordsbeast to grip the blade for better control.

And, in this case, extend thrusting power. The ring was just there so she didn't get a finger lopped off. Off course, it was best to insert said finger, no?

She took a quick look at the light glinting from the rapier's curling reddish-gold brass and silver intaglio patterns, along with designs of flames, lunar phases, and stars. Such a beautiful weapon, but it had a tragic history. But—

Ahh! Malcan must have seen her temporary distraction and gone in for a swift kill.

Or pseudo-kill.

Fast! She neatly deflected the diagonal strike and struck out herself, aiming at her husband's throat. Damn! Malcan had cleverly used her parry to motivate his blade into a blocking position, neatly catching her thrust.

And then it was a good two minutes—which was a _very_ long time for a fight—of a whirlwind of clashing steel. Rapier met broadsword as she tried to capitalize on an opening.

She withdrew, sidestepped to the left, and again thrust, this time aiming a hit to the shoulder. Again, Malcan batted it away. But this time, her husband replied with a counterattack of his own, aiming a strong-looking horizontal slice to her belly. She stepped back, and slammed her rapier to the trailing edge of the broadsword, forcing her husband to exaggerate the swing. Of course, Malcan wasn't going to be put off by a maneuver like that. She watched him whirl, allowing the parry to give the momentum for a counterattack.

Perfect.

Now... withdrew the finger from the ricasso, hold her rapier in a standard saber grip... She twisted her wrist so that it was diagonal to her body, pointing up and to the right. Now...

In a flash, she extended her grip a bit and intercepted Malcan's swing.

And, coincidentally, that block also neatly placed the tip of Skyfire at the side of her husband's neck.

She looked into his eyes. Malcan gave a jaunty smile.

"Again, another defeat at the paws of—"

"'Floret's best swordsbeast,' I know," she finished, chuckling. "What ever can a queen do with such a doting king?"

"Mayhaps letting the king win once and a while?"

She snorted and disengaged Skyfire from her husband's neck. "You win as much as I do!"

It was true, and her husband had better _not_ dispute the fact.

Malcan shrugged. "Aye, it's true enough, I suppose. In any case, that was an expert move you executed, Aya."

"Thank you, Malcan."

She sheathed her rapier and turned to look at their daughter, who was staring wide-eyed. She was _always_ wide-eyed, it seemed. Ah, the eternal curiosity and admiration of the young.

Well, time to—

"Your Majesties!" she heard a familiar—albeit breathless—voice call out.

"Yes, what is it, Brookrudd?" she heard her husband reply tensely. She would have, too. Brookrudd didn't run breathless to report petty matters. That should have been the job of eternally chatty Pilaris, but...

"Sire... a patrol found... found..." she heard the otter captain trail off and become silent for a moment, probably to regain his composure.

Anything that could fluster the sturdy otter like that must be _bad_.

"We found, your majesty," choked Brookrudd, "the _devoured_ bodies of a fieldmouse family and two of our otter patrolbeasts... sire. Near the northern regions."

She heard the king sharply draw in a breath.

"Brookrudd, send recalls to all outlying outposts, and make sure that every patrol is either strengthened to five beasts or called back. Increase the battlement patrols as well."

She saw the otter nod. "Aye, sire. I'll get to it."

Brookrudd turned to go.

"Brookrudd, wait!" she heard Malcan shout. Brookrudd stopped and turned around.

"Sire?"

"Pass on the orders to one of the others. I want you to rest."

That was noble of her husband. She watched Brookrudd give a tired sigh and bow. "Uh... Aye, sir. I'll do that."

Brookrudd left the room.

Malcan had always been apprehensive about the otter. After the previous otter captain, Swiftrudd, had fallen at the Battle of the Nighthunt, Malcan's father, Audric, had appointed the younger otter as the replacement. She remembered the new captain being a tad nervous, but that had passed soon enough. Her then-fiancé, on the other hand, was much less confident. Malcan, despite the occasional, strictly-friendly bickering with Swiftrudd, must have felt he was betraying Swiftrudd's memory.

But that had passed soon enough. Her husband was a close friend to Captain Brookrudd, and Brookrudd was all she or any other ruler could hope for.

"Cana, you can go outside and play if you wish. Your mother and I wish to talk."

She smiled when she saw her little princess nod, get to her footpaws, dust off her training tunic, and leave. She felt her mouth grow more grim as she looked at her husband.

"I don't know what to do, Aya," her husband said simply. "Something is terribly wrong, and I'm afraid Mossflower might be having the same problems. But I dare not send an envoy there, with the risks.

She sighed and took his paws in hers. "I agree. The best that we can do, as of now, is just wait to see what will happen."

"Aye. But it's so... draining, fearing something you cannot even identify."

Malcan had that look in his eyes again.

Reminiscing.

During the opening stages of the skirmish with the Nighthunt, "Nightblood" assassins had infiltrated the castle and assassinated the queen, Malcan's mother, Sydelle. And then... the terror of real battle, and the sensation of killing somebeast. That black fox had nearly had her, but for Malcan. Dark Forest... what was in store?

"We just have to be strong, Malcan," she whispered.

* * *

Raezel Snowdance bit down into a slab of bread. It tasted like... nothing. Ooh, big surprise for military rations. At least it wasn't that hardtack that needed to be soaked in a liquid for farking three hours. Ick. 

And now she had to deal with... okay, that was a bit infuriating to think of. She reached down into a pouch and toyed with the four strands of short brown hair that she had found under her tunic a few hours ago. There was only _one_ brown-furred beast here, and it sure as Hellgates wasn't her!

Spiderspit.

She and the other lieutenant were currently going up 'n down the damn southern ranges. It wasn't really hard going—when it was cold, it was okay, and when it was warm, it was bearable—but she was really suspicious of how these _brown hairs_ got under her shirt. Seriously, now.

She chewed and swallowed, and repeated. Nourishing, okay, but not exactly exciting to the palate. Cripes.

She leaped on top of a medium-sized boulder, and looked behind her. The sand marten was larger than her, and seemed a bit more tired than she felt. But, of course, Tigron wasn't doing bad, just not as good as her. Well, with those nice, hard—holy spiderspit...

She grunted and stepped off the rock and continued up. She and Tigron were nearing the summit, so it would be easier in about ten minutes or so.

She fingered one of the throwing knives in its sheath on her fauld. High Templars almost never used bows, relying on arm-powered weapons exclusively. She had taken knife-throwing seriously, so here she was, one of the best Wraith knife-chuckers.

Goody.

She looked behind again. Tigron was keeping up, breathing a _teeny_ bit heavier than hers. Okay, so Tigron's muscles weren't an inhibition. Great.

Well, but those _hairs_.

It needed to be answered, but cripes, she was getting obsessed with this.

* * *

He shouldn't be getting so obsessed with those hairs he'd found, right? Tigron shook his head when he saw the snow vixen look away. It started to drizzle—damn—so he tossed up his hood. Oh, really now, this mission was just going downhill alarmingly. 

He and the other Wraith were almost to the top of the mountain, so it would be easier going, soon.

And, in the meantime, he had to wonder about a couple of things. For one, how had a couple of _white_ hairs gotten under his tunic? There was only _one_ white-furred beast here, and it was... no, that was really stupid to even think that. But the fur was still there. Drat.

Well, there was always the question of how Raezel could stay so slim when she munched bread every farking half-hour.

Eating that much, Raezel should have been noticeably fat, not sexy and slender and nicely muscled and... oh, fleacrap. This was _ridiculous_.

He saw Raezel make it to the top of the mountain.

Well, maybe _here _was the best place to... talk to the snow vixen about those hairs.

Probably not. But, heck, definitely soon.

Raezel was waiting up top. Joy. Not too far off... were those trees? Finally.

He looked at the other Wraith. "Well, time for a visit to Mossflower."

He noticed Raezel jerk, and then the snow vixen began to move down the mountain.

And the fun continues. Oh, drat.


	10. Chapter 7: Welcome to Mossflower!

**_PRIDE OF KAVAZARA_**

By

Gregory P. Wong

* * *

**Chapter Seven: "Welcome to Mossflower!"**

* * *

"When were they last seen?" Wallace questioned Mother Vivian. 

He saw the abbess shake her head. "From what I have gathered, Fleeby and Rawl slipped out sometime last night. It could have been at any time!"

Seasons. Two wayward Dibbuns out in Mossflower, alone. Not alarming in and of itself...

... if it hadn't been for those horrifying murders as of late.

"I'll go hunt for them, Abbess."

But the abbess shook her head again. What?

"No, Wallace you will not. Or not alone, at any rate." Ah, that was what she meant. "I suggest taking Leena with you."

He just barely stifled a choke. _Now_ what was the abbess thinking?

"Wallace, Wallace," the other mouse said with smile, "Leena is the best choice as of now. I would have added Danforth, but, unfortunately, he's washing everybeast's dishes right now." Well, after Mother Minerva got her paws on Danforth, that wasn't at all a surprise. "On the other paw, Sister Bria doesn't need help in the infirmary as of now.

"I would have dispatched some of Winopal's otters, but without you here, I want them at full strength."

That was a gracious compliment.

"Besides, you seem very fond of Leena."

This time he did choke.

* * *

Wraith Captain Felgara Whipclaw yawned as she heard footpaws rapidly approaching. Well, Trueblade was on time, at least. Well, better get Windtear wrapped up. Her personal weapon, the fifteen-foot weighted warchain Windtear, was emerald and heavily engraved with wraithstones. That high concentration of the gems allowed her to do weird things with the chain. 

She was at the halfway point between the oupost and Redwall, and Trueblade should be coming. Well, if that weasel ever wanted to be relieved...

Ah, there. That grayish weasel was moving at a mild jog. From the vantage point this tree branch provided it was easy to see Captain Zine Trueblade.

"Trueblade, anything new?" she called to the other captain as he reached the tree.

"Hey, Whipclaw. Nope, nothing new when I left. But I think one of those otters got a look at me. She and I definitely made eye contact."

Oh, great. "She," was it? Geez. Strange, Trueblade didn't seem the peeping tom—

"I wasn't peeping, ya wacky ferret." Oops, better control the surface thoughts... "I was on ground level, and she was on the battlements. 'Sides, she was too old for me, anyway. Not altogether bad looking, though."

Yeah, too old. Right. There was a time when she'd been romantically involved with the weasel, and she was double Trueblade's twenty-six seasons, but, thank Dark Forest, didn't look it at all. Ah, the benefits of being a Wraith.

Well, that was probably it, then. The otter was just an older normal beast.

She hopped down from her perch. It was making her derriere cramp up.

"Sure she was," she poked at Trueblade. "Knowing you, you also managed to peek at some squirrel or mouse in her bath, huh?"

"Heh, I wish."

"I know you do."

Yes, Zine Trueblade, consummate fem-chaser extraordinaire.

At least the other captain could get by with it. Trueblade was almost ridiculously handsome, and he could win a female quite easily. Plus, the weasel was smooth and interesting to be around, not to mention rambunctious when it fit the situation.

_She_ should know. She'd been his lover for what? a season or so, and she was still an incredibly close friend after Trueblade and she had parted on good terms.. Trueblade wasn't a despicable take-her-heart-and-break-it beast, and that was admirable about him. He also wasn't a relationship breaker. But, if you were an eligible fem, Trueblade was going to show up and beg you to date him.

It was something of a joke that Trueblade's rapier was named "Heartseeker."

Yes, Trueblade said it meant how deadly the blade was, but...

"So, anything I should know before I meet boss?" asked the weasel.

"No. Though he was just about to begin cleaning the general armor when I executed a perfectly necessary tactical retreat. Looks like you're the lucky beast."

Hah. Trueblade gave a sigh and rubbed a paw over his face.

"_Just_ my luck. And, spiderspit, I don't even _use_ the armor. If that isn't unfair, I don't know _what_ is! "

She let out a snort at that. Trueblade never wore the standard uniform, except for special occasions. Well, the Wraith cloak and pantaloons—gray in his case—were regulation, but the open-front long-sleeved, high-collared tunic—same color as the pantaloons, plus a crimson band, of course—and gray headband were sure as heck not.

Trueblade was partly true. The weasel did don the standard Wraith armor when there was need, but never the uniform. She, on the other paw, wore a standard female's sleeveless tunic and duty trousers. Her personal color was green.

But Trueblade looked good. The three gray gull feathers stuck into the headband were perfect with the garb. And the open tunic just showed the right amount of muscular torso, and...

Okay, maybe this was the time to change the subject.

"Well," she said to the weasel, "sucks to be you. Anything I should know?"

Oh, no, there was now a bitter frown on the other captain's face. "Yes, there is something you should know. Two adult hedgehogs, probably travelers," Trueblade said darkly. "Classic signs of Dervaga toothmarks. There were only the upper torsos left."

Hellgates... "Again?"

She watched Trueblade nod. "Yeah. I couldn't track the Dervaga though. They're getting smart about their camouflage."

"Well, _that_'_s_ something we need like a hole in the head. Smarter Dervaga... fleacrap," she shook her head in anger. "Any evidence that they're moving against Redwall?"

"Not yet. The otters and the Redwallers look ready for a scuffle, though. They'll need it, probably sooner than later. Damn, this assignment sucks."

Better to say nothing, probably. Trueblade hated seeing innocents die... especially by Dervaga paws.

"Yes, it does."

Awkward silence. This always happened when she was alone with Trueblade.

Trueblade coughed. "Well, better not let the major get lonely with that armor. Take care, Felgara."

She smiled. "You too, Zine."

She turned to go.

Well, off to Redwall.

* * *

"When I get back to Redwall, I will _tan_ their bottoms," Wallace grumbled. 

"You'll have to wait until I'm done, first," he heard Leena grumble back. "Stomping through these thistles is getting on my nerves."

This was new. "Do my ears deceive me? Am I hearing the infirmary assistant speaking bloody murder?"

"No," said the mousemaid with a giggle, "you're hearing a very disgruntled harvest mouse named Leena speaking bloody murder. There _is_ a difference."

He and Leena laughed.

He scratched the back of his head and stroked a round object over his left shoulder. Yes, the pommelstone of Martin's Sword.

It was a fine weapon! Very large and powerful, yet so exquisitely made he could fight with it single-pawed if he wanted. Of course, the hilt was long enough to fit two paws.

The blade was said to have made from star-metal and rumored to be unbreakable. Of course, this made sense, since this sword was several centuries old already, and he had yet to find a speck of rust or a scratch on the deadly blade.

Leena's personal weapon was also a fine weapon, a bronze-hilted, gold-tasseled saber, just over a yard long. Very nice. A beautiful weapon for a beautiful warrior.

Oh, Vivian, was this a good or bad choice?

He scratched his head again. Time to get back to the matter at paw.

But, really, where could those little rascals have gotten to? It was far enough already! Seasons!

"This is beginning to worry me," he said to Leena.

"Oh?" he heard the mousemaid say questioningly.

"Yes. I've _never_ traveled this far when _I_ was a babe. Goodness."

He saw Leena shrug and keep walking. Oh, what luck. Out on a walk with this pretty harvest mouse, but _no_, Dibbuns needed _shepherding_.

He heard a rumbling sound. What... oh, it was his stomach. He noticed Leena looking at him with a wry grin. Another perfect—

He heard another rumble.

Leena chuckled. "I guess we're both famished. We can stop for a moment or two, yes?"

He grinned. "Of course. Burrchopp makes the best—"

Another stomach rumbled. But wait a second, it had come from behind...

What...?

* * *

Okay, what in Hellgates were a squirrel and mouse child doing wandering around out here? 

Felgara settled into a crouch behind a raggedly scrawny bush. Oh, well, it would do.

The run northeast towards Redwall hadn't been out of the ordinary until, well, now.

Weren't the nannies or whatever Redwall had having fits right now? Fleacrap.

Well, for some reason, the two, kids looked scared out of their wits. They were hugging each other, cowering beneath a large beech tree. Hmm... their eyes were darting all over the place.

Wait...

She concentrated and sent out a sensitive psi-sweep. Nothing. Well, try again. Again, noth—

Fark!

A Dervaga signature was heading in from the kids' right, and it was close!

She uncoiled a section of Windtear from her right arm and searched for the creature.

Some trees rustled, and...

Ooh-kay, this wasn't good at all.

An adder Dervaga burst out from behind a tree.

And it _almost_ looked like a run-of-the-mill adder. Almost.

But it was a Dervaga. Its scaly skin was black, but an obscene black. Sort of the black you'd expect from a rotting corpse. And it was huge. Being a Dervaga, it was at least a quarter larger than most regular snakes. And to top it off, it had to be a specially crafted sleeper, so it was stronger. Thank Dark Forest it wasn't a Defiled One.

Oh, farking spiderspit. This was gonna take some effort. She held up the wraithcomm wrapped around her left wrist. She tapped the crystal until it got that purplish color, signaling that it was "broadcasting" to both Flickerfist and Trueblade via the "purple channel."

"Major," she whispered hurriedly, "I have a positive Dervaga contact. Looks like a snake. I'm engaging now. Get here when you can."

Hopefully that would get through to either of the other Wraiths. Communications was spotty around her, no idea why.

Okay... distract the monster... there! She shot out Windtear and snagged a medium-sized rock. She whirled it like a sling and launched it at the corrupted adder.

The rock wasn't that big, the snake was, but the Dervaga sure looked like it felt it.

"Hey!" she yelled at the adder. "Lunch is over here! Try a nice meaty ferret!"

Well, it was more of the sounds than the words that were needed. Average Dervaga were semi-moronic, basically mindless insects.

But Dervaga did get angry.

She charged the snake. She heard it hiss venomously and saw it rear back. Damn.

She rolled to the right as the adder struck out. Miss. That was close.

She took a quick glance at her surroundings. A tree was right on her left, and another was about fifteen feet away to the right. Okay, she could do this.

She placed her right footpaw on the tree to her right. She allowed her psionic power to flow, heightening her reactions into the seemingly impossible Wraith speeds.

Wait for it...

She saw the adder blur. A second before its poisonous fangs could touch her she kicked out from the tree, propelling her towards the _other_ one on her left. A nice crunchy noise told her the adder had just slammed into the trunk. Hah! She whipped out Windtear and a section wrapped around the Dervaga's gaping lower jaw.

She yanked hard, and the snake—stunned, thankfully, from the impact into the tree—slammed headfirst into _this_ trunk, the one next to her.

Now, time to send out a mental command an unwrap Windtear.

Well, it must've woken up a bit, since it stared at her and rose. It hissed again and struck.

Or tried to. She rebounded off the other tree, shot out Windtear, snagged the serpent Dervaga, and tugged it into a tree again.

Well, the bastard was now bloody from getting crashed'n'slammed. But it looked like it stilled wanted to eat her. Wonderful.

Spiderspit, this wouldn't do. She couldn't do the same moves on the snake farking over and over again. They could learn, dammit. That just meant this party needed some variety.

Oh, perfect.

The corrupted snake moved more cautiously now. Well, being worked into a tree twice would do that. She shook her head. The Dervaga just hissed.

She saw it twitch. She leaped, and saw the Dervaga dive at the spot she had just been. She landed on top of the wedge-shaped head and wrapped her warchain around its throat. She tugged up, trying to strangle the sinuous piece of crud, but it looked like the snake had other ideas. It thrust its head forward pretty damn hard, and she felt herself flying. Okay... this could work out.

She unwrapped her chain and let the momentum carry her toward a tree. Nice thick branches... perfect. She snapped out her warchain, snagged it on a more-or-less horizontal branch, and allowed the _very_ helpful Dervaga-provided momentum to carry her like a sling-launched stone back _at_ the adder.

One hundred-fifty pounds of five-foot-five muscular compact ferret fem slammed into the snake's face.

The snake dropped like it had just been clubbed over the head by a large rock.

Now... for the finisher. There! A perfectly shaped rock.

Said rock was a bit pointed on the end, not too large... about the size of her head. As she dropped to the ground, she enfolded the rock with Windtear. She landed, and, uh-oh, it looked like the snake was getting itself back together.

Couldn't have that.

She yanked the rock in a high arc and whirled it into the stunned adder's skull, point first.

Crunch, and it was over.

She yanked back Windtear, and manipulated it with her mind so it wrapped around her right arm. Well, not a scratch... not bad. And... oh, almost forgot them.

"Hey, you two," she said to the two shivering kids.

She saw the mouse and squirrel just shrink back more.

Okay, better put this into perspective. Let's see... Scary adder wants them for lunch. Scary adder corners them. Strange ferret pops out of bushes. Strange ferret proceeds to do acrobatics only a semi-suicidal super-squirrel could do. Strange ferret kills scary adder. Now strange ferret wants to talk them.

And, the kicker, ferrets were bad-beasty "vermin" around this place. Great.

"You know, I would explain what just happened," she muttered to the two kids, scratching her head, "but that would probably be too mind-boggling for you two. Let's just say I'm a friend."

The squirrel and mouse just whimpered.

She gave a loud sigh. "Well, I guess that's the best I'll get from you two. I'd have liked a 'Welcome to Mossflower!' greeting, but, well, life ain't not fair. No, I'm not going to hurt you. Yes, I'm a friend. Now, let's get back to your abbey, hmm?"

* * *

Wallace couldn't quite stop a yelp of surprise as large, jet-black otter stepped out of the bushes where'd he'd probably been hiding. 

Interesting. The otter was at least a head taller than most other otters he'd seen, and that black fur wasn't a usual feature, either. But something looked wrong...

"You startled us!" he heard Leena scold the otter. "There's no need to sneak up on us like that!"

The otter just made an indecipherable noise and took a step closer. Very odd... that black fur was most positively strange-looking. It was black, yet it still looked filthy. The eyes, too, looked strange. Reddish pupil, jaundiced whites.

He saw the otter raise an arm a bit. Grasped in the right paw was... what was that?

It looked like a cleaver Brother Burrchopp used for chopping tough foods, but it was pointed, long-handled, and had a spike that extended down to form a sort of guard.

It was most unquestionably a weapon.

He held up his paws in what he hoped was a sufficiently non-threatening gesture.

"We mean you no harm. We were just searching for some lost Dibbuns." Odd, the otter's expressions didn't change one bit. "Have you seen a small mouse and squirrel wandering about?"

He heard the otter growl and stomp forward, raising the... what were those called? Those days of studying the various weapons had better not have gone to waste... ah, a falchion. A single-edged, pointed, cleaver-like weapon mainly used in a chopping fashion.

Something was definitely wrong. He stepped in front of Leena, putting himself between the mousemaid and the strange otter, and put a paw on the hilt of the sword.

"Stand down! We mean you no—"

The otter swung. He leaped backwards

Hellgates! The tip of the falchion had grazed his chest. Yes, it looked like speaking was out of the question now.

With a smooth motion he drew the sword of Martin the Warrior over his shoulder. He heard another rasping noise, and knew that Leena had drawn her saber as well.

The otter made another swing, a backhand, and he blocked it and levered the weapon up and over his head, forcing the otter off balance. Now, it was best, even now, not to deal lethal damage.

He grunted and slammed the pommel of Martin's sword into the temple of the black otter.

That didn't seem to do a thing except make it stumble. He watched as the otter—

_Crack_!

Ouch. That hurt. He rubbed his head, making sure it was still there. The beast had just punched him, and what a punch! It felt like getting hit on the head with a hammer.

Shake the head, clear it, look around. It hurt.

Leena was silently sliding her saber from the otter's chest. What...?

The blood wasn't red at all, but black.

"Are you hurt badly?" he heard Leena ask him.

He nodded. "I'm just a bit shaken. That was a powerful hit. Thank you."

He heard Leena swallow. "You're welcome."

Then he understood. Leena had just killed another beast, Yes, one that was clearly attacking him, but a beast nonetheless. It must have shaken her.

"I should ask you the same question Leena. Are you well?"

The harvest mouse shook her head. "Not at the moment, but I suppose I'll get over it."

Then he heard more rustling. By seasons...!

He yanked up his sword in time to block another descending falchion. He leaped to his feet, forced the blade into the ground, and walloped off the head of the beast, a ferret, also black.

Were those more sounds? He spun around, and saw two more ferrets, a mouse, a squirrel, and a weasel, all black and bigger than average, shamble out from cover.

Oh, no.

He backed up, making sure Leena was too.

And then he backed up into something.

He started, then realized it was a tree. Good. At least there wouldn't be any attacks from behind.

But he and Leena were still outnumbered.

The large mouse came on, falchion blurring. It was going for his... head. He intercepted the attack high on the swing and allowed the falchion to slide past the sword of Martin. He probably caught the mouse by surprise, since the beast stumbled forward, obviously off-balance. Now... follow the block with a lightning-fast counterattack to the belly... and it was done.

The mouse crashed to the ground, but, unfortunately, one of the ferrets attacked.

"Ahh!" he cried as the falchion slammed into his right arm.

That was lucky! He'd been dodging to his right, so the wound wasn't bad.

But it blasted hurt! He hammered his paw into the ferret's face—seasons, it felt like he'd punched a tree bole—and the beast stumbled back. He swept up sword and slashed open the ferret's stomach. The wound spilled...

That wasn't right! It was extremely morbid to think about, but he'd never thought innards would be blackish and scabrous! And—

"Wallace!" he heard Leena scream. He turned.

The remaining three beasts had cornered Leena and were shambling towards the harvest mouse, falchions swaying back and forth. No! He hurled Martin's sword with a roar.

It flew through the air, and...

Seasons! The four-foot blade of the sword sank to the guard into the weasel's stomach. The beast gave a wet gurgle and collapsed to the floor. As he watched, Leena used the distraction to outmaneuver the remaining beasts, threading through the defense with quick sideways counters that left the squirrel's head on the floor and the ferret with a hole through it.

She would be fine.

What in Dark Forest _was_ this? Powerful, large creatures, well-armed, randomly attacking two travelers? The Dibbuns! They were in danger. He rushed over to the sword of Martin and plucked it from the weasel's black body. He could afford to let the shock hit him later.

"No, no, they're fine," said a new voice. It sounded like it belonged to a female beast of some sort. "They didn't feel like, er, moving at the time, so I left them back about thirty yards."

He whirled around.

A short, muscular female ferret leaned on a tree behind him and Leena. Strange garb...

The female was strangely dressed. The beast wore tight, fitting trousers that were a dark emerald and a sleeveless tunic—at least it looked sleeveless, since a strange cloak covered the shoulders—that was also green, except for a dark red strip that ran down diagonally from the right shoulder.

Now, the cloak was an interesting garment! The cloak looked wide enough to wrap around the entire body. In addition, it _looked_ hooded, and the cloth that was facing against the ferret's body was also a deep green. But, strangely, the side facing out was this confused jumble of colored splotches. Hmm? What... Ah! That was it. The side facing out was a very adept camouflage!

And...

And the ferret had a chain coiled around the right arm, a section loosely hanging from the strange beast's left arm.

Seasons, would there be no end?

With a roar, he dashed forward and stabbed out. If he was fast enough, this would be over soon after—

He heard a _chiiink_ and felt a jolt.

Impossible! The ferret had caught his weapon... with the chain. He stared at the tip of Martin's sword stopped perfectly in one the chain's links. This was... impossible! No beast was that precise or that fast!

And then he felt himself pushed backwards. He got oriented again and saw the ferret coil the chain again.

"Really, now," the green-clad beast said exasperatedly, "what does it take to get a nice welcome around here? Geez, what do you do with beasts visiting Redwall, eh? Bonk them over the head with wooden mallets? Heck, at least I got a nicer reception while taking a peek into the bachelor enlisted barracks. I got plenty of whistles."

Goodness, this was a completely surprise.

"I know, I know," said the ferret, as though his mind had just been read. "And yes, I can read your mind. Well, more or less. I can only sense surface thoughts without applying full concentration. Hey, Wallace, Leena."

This was _very_ strange.

"Well, nice to meet you two. I can't stay and chat, y'know, standing orders and all. Hope to see that abbey from the inside someday, though. And, by the way, those kids you lost are that way." The ferret pointed. "Bye, now."

And then the ferret fell into the tree. Yes, _fell_. One moment, the female was completely solid, the next, she looked as though she were reddish smoke that barely held the vague form and features of the ferret. Aforementioned smoke _melted_ into the tree and was gone.

He would definitely need to see the nurse after this. He was going crazy.

He shot a look at Leena. Yes, the mousemaid was looking at him oddly, as well.

"Well, that is most fortunate," sighed Leena. "If you saw _that_ too, it proves I'm not crazy. Well, not crazy all by myself, at any rate."

Ugh. What a strange day. Well, the true answer better be sanity, not simultaneous madness. "True, true, Leena." He shrugged. "We had better get those Dibbuns."

"Oh, of course."


	11. Chapter 8: The Board is Set

**_PRIDE OF KAVAZARA_**

By

Gregory P. Wong

* * *

**Chapter Eight: The Board Is Set**

* * *

Slydant straightened his crimson cloak and sash, marks of his position as a Bladestone High Templar. The pin—damn, it was always going crooked. Better straighten it out—of a three crossed spears showed his rank as a tribune.

He took a look in the mirror. Well, everything thing was there. Reddish fur, classic fox-face, okay-looking, but certainly not get-the-fems-giggling handsome, and—

Ahh, _no_! Was that a _gray_ hair on the muzzle?

Forty-six, and already in possession of some gray hairs. Life wasn't fair. Well, no consequence. His vanity wasn't that fragile. More or less.

Then again, it wasn't everyday an old tribune was asked for an audience with the Grand Marshal. But Longspear and Galecut weren't procedure-stricken ninnies, so the hair could stay.

But... Forty-two with gray hairs? It was obscene!

He sighed and stepped out of his quarters. Now, now, time to see what the Bladestone leader wanted.

He came to the conference room oak door—which was, of course, guarded by three Praetorians—and walked in.

Well, this was interesting. Besides Lord Longspear and Lady Galecut, War Marshal Razorfang and a large, silver-winged raven female were present. All four beasts were standing.

He dropped to his knees and saluted the Bladestone leaders, and offered a regular salute to Razorfang. He gave a little nod to the raven.

"Glad you could make it, Tribune," he heard Galecut say. He saw Galecut gesture to the raven. "This is Pinionmaster Steelwing, one of King Nightalon's top officers."

Ah, one of Nightalon's beasts.

Phoenix Eyrie, Nightalon's kingdom/stronghold, was located about fifty mile east. The Kavazarans and the ravens were firm allies, even though when Wraithlord first came here there was some bloodshed. But, nonetheless, relations now were very strong.

He gave a respectful nod to the raven. "Hello, ma'am."

"Greetings to you, Tribune," he heard the raven reply.

"Well, I 'm sure you'd like to know why you have been summoned," Lady Galecut put in. "To make a long story short, we have some very... bad news."

Okay, now this was very puzzling. "Is it in direct regards to me, ma'am?"

"Not you, specifically, no. It's more of everybeast in and around Bladestone, which is clearly worse."

"Of course, ma'am."

He heard Razorfang clear his throat. "Is tha tribune cleered fer this, Tritan? We wern't quite dun with tha Pinionmaster's discussion."

He saw the rat lord nod. "He will be, effective now. He will be leading the relief force, after all." He noticed that Lord Longspear was pinning him with a gaze. "Considering, of course, that he agrees."

Relief force? What was this?

"Four days ago we dispatched two Wraiths, Lieutenants Tigron Sandstar and Raezel Snowdance, south to Redwall Abbey in order to reinforce Major Flickerfist and his group." The Bladestone Lord grimaced. "I thought five Wraiths would be plenty, but guess what? I think I'm very wrong. Pinionmaster, if it not too much inconvenience...?"

"None at all, Tritan Longspear," said the raven. The bird turned to face him.

"Tribune, my scouts have confirmed that a sizable force of Dervaga are headed this way. Some type of mist made visibility poor, but we guess a force of at _least_ fifty-thousand." Oh, no. "Furthermore, We also discerned at least eight hundred Dervaga-corrupted birds shadowing the main force."

Oh, no, doubly no.

"And this brings us back to the discussion, Tribune," said Galecut. "We have decided that you would be best to lead a short battalion to further reinforce Redwall.

"This will most likely be a joint operation, so there'll be elements of Crimson Guard, Templar, and Wraith units."

An honor to be asked... but why the heck him?

"We chose you because of your abilities and experience, Tribune," said Longspear. Oh, yeah, the Wraiths could read minds. "Fourteen seasons as a Templar, five of which were with the Pathfinders; two seasons with the High Templars, where you rose to tribune, followed by a season in the Praetorians before you requested to be transferred back to the High Templars. You have, oh, a grand total of nineteen seasons experience to date. And also an accomplished tactician in both cavalry and infantry, and, from what I heard, a good fighter too."

Oh.

"So, to cut to the chase: will you volunteer, Tribune?" inquired the rat lady.

"If it is in best interest of Bladestone, yes, ma'am, I accept" he blurted. What in Hellgates? Did he really just say that? He wasn't normally this hasty in decisions...

"Yes, you did, Praetor, and thank you."

What...? "It's 'Tribune,' ma'am."

"Oh, not anymore."

He blinked.

"Thank you, Praetor," he heard Lord Longspear state. "We do have some things to run by you, though. For one, would you accept a Wraith major as your XO?"

A Wraith? "I would have no objections to a Wraith executive officer, sir."

Longspear nodded. "In addition, if at all possible, I'd prefer the battalion to include two line companies, an archery company, an engineering one, and a platoon or so of mixed logistical and medical personnel." Longspear fell silent for a moment, and then the rat looked like he had remembered something. "Ah, yes, how could I almost forget? I'm sure you'd want your former command to come along as well, and I recommend it."

Hmm... Good. But there were some loose ends to tie up, though.

"Of course, sir. Though, if I can, I'd like to promote one of my century leaders to tribune, since it's not, er, technically _my_ unit anymore."

"Of course, Praetor. Diis, is it?"

"Uh,"—ah, mind-reading again—"Yes, sir. Centurion Diis."

He saw Longspear nod. "Excellent. Last, but not least, War Marshal Razorfang has something to add."

Okay... why did Longspear have that grin?

He heard the wildcat clear his throat again.

"Ach, Praetor, Ah'd think it be prudent if Ah cood toss in a Pathfinder squad or tew."

He let himself grin. "I'd be ecstatic to have a Pathfinder group, sir. In fact, now that you mentioned it, I have one sergeant major I'd beg to requisition."

"Is tha so?

"Yes, sir."

"Wudd it happen tae be Blikot?"

Good guess! That mountain of a wildcat sure knew plenty of stuff. "Correct, sir."

He saw Razorfang grunt laughter. "Weel, yer going tae have yer work cut aout fer yew. I hear Blikot has tha infamous Tred in tha coorrent command configuration."

Hmm… Now, was that a good thing or a bad thing? The sergeant­—who had formally been a staff sergeant not less than two weeks ago—was very bad-mouthed and borderline insubordinate sometimes. However, the rat was loyal, clever, very skilled, was in possession of a good heart, and was one of the best shots with the Pathfinder mechbows. But was this good or bad? In any case, it was unavoidable

But, oh yes, Blikot would be having a fit when he found out about this, oh yes.

"I guess I will, sir."

* * *

Tritan grinned slightly as the fox saluted and left.

Interesting character. He'd only met Slydant a few times or so, and he didn't really remember the fox. He more or less knew why.

Slydant was just about average in every respect. Not too tall or short, not too muscular or thin, not too loud or taciturn, and not strikingly handsome. And even though the fox was a­—very—competent officer, the now-praetor didn't give off those vibes.

Hmm… he would bet if the fox was given civilian clothes and left to wander Bladestone or the civilian towns not a single beast would recognize the officer for what he was.

Well, well, that would be interesting to think how that would play out...

But, of course, things needed to be done.

"Pinionmaster?" he said, addressing the raven. "Will we be receiving support from—"

"There is no need to even ask such a thing, Lord Longspear! In fact, four hundred of our best warriors are ready for my return to fly out to meet you!"

He gave a bow to female raven. Of course it was a stupid question. Gah. Everybeast was on edge.

"My apologies, Pinionmaster. I didn't mean to imply otherwise." He cleared his throat. "If I may ask, which officer will be leading this detachment?"

"I."

Well, that was... unorthodox

Or not. This just showed Kavazara's and Phoenix Eyrie's close friendship.

He gave a respectful nod to the raven. "I'm sure your warriors will be fearsome in battle, and that you and they will prove to be a deciding factor, Pinionmaster."

"You do my clan honor, Lord Longspear," stated the raven. He saw the bird take a look outside the window. Hmm... it was already nearing sunset. "Sir, I think it be best for me to depart now, if I am to reach Phoenix Eyrie before nightfall."

"Of course, Pinionmaster. Have a safe journey." Wait, perhaps the raven would prefer... "Pinionmaster, shall I have my Praetorians escort you back to your guards?"

"Thank you, Lord Longspear, but that will not be necessary. I do not wish to trouble your beasts, so, if it is allowable may I depart straight from that window? I'm sure I can fit."

"Ah, in that case, farewell, Pinionmaster."

"Safe journey, Pinionmaster," he heard his wife say

"Aye. Gud nigh' tae yew, Pinionmaster," drawled Rid.

"Thank you all. Good tidings."

And then he watched the pinionmaster fly off.

He turned to his wife and Rid.

"We had better start getting things planned, because this is going to be _bad_. I hope those two L-Ts are doing okay..."

* * *

"I'm serious. Life really does suck," the Pathfinder rat Tred snorted.

"You always say that, you moaning bastard," he heard Staff Sergeant Verjik laugh. "Seriously, you need to lighten up."

Yeah, _sure_. "Sure, dude, whatever, bark all you want. _You_'_re_ not having _your_ arse dragged out of Bladestone to save the tails of some 'Redwall' place. Sheez, this bites."

"Ah, shaddup," the stoat said, waving a paw vaguely. "Learn to enjoy life, my friend."

Oh, come on. Like he hadn't heard that one a farking million times. Verjik wasn't going gallivanting off to the arse-end of nowhere with nothing but some mixed units. Geez, he still wanted to slap some sense into Blikot for assigning him to this piss detail. Bah, Blikot was too good a smaj to get beaten. But whatever.

"My left arse cheek life is enjoyable, dude. I mean, what type of total crap will I have to deal with? I'm only farking twenty-four. I don't need to travel."

"Tred, at least you'll get to see the world and stuff. I'm stuck here enjoying Stoutjaw's cooking."

He snorted. While Sergeant Tork Stoutjaw was a decent cook, it was, well, average. Got hecka boring after a while. And this dinner in the enlisted mess room was no exception

"Well, at least that's one good thing about me leaving."

"I heard that, you little runt!" he heard Stoutjaw call good-naturedly.

Yep, he was a runty rat. Barely over, what, five-two? At least he had muscles, though. And those came in handy when idiots didn't think a small thing like him could dish it out. Oh yeah, that one corporal was still in the medical wing, and _he_ was still serving farking double shifts. Some beasts didn't have a sense of humor.

"Come 'ere and say that to my face, tubby!" he called back. And no, not angrily.

"Later, after I've poisoned all your arses."

Heh. He waved his arms around and raised his voice. "At least this beast's honest, which is jack-great compared to all you."

"Go and choke on the poison then, yah prickhead," he heard somebeast call out.

Yeah, yeah, the backroom barker. Big farking deal.

He flipped a middle finger in the general vicinity of the voice and stepped up to Stoutjaw. "Right then, watcha got, Tork?

The portly weasel slid over a plate. Well, now, some warm bread, nice. And some veggies... okay. Some type of pastry with tasty-looking—or not—gravy... not too bad looking. Oh yeah, the limp stick of whitish cheese and that cup of pale, watery beer.

Oh, nice.

He picked up the cheese and cup and waved them around. Hellgates, the cheese was bouncing around quite liberally. How in heck could they get _cheese_ wrong? "Hey, lookee here! Dead rat's prick and what he pissed out of it!"

Uh-oh.

"Call my stuff dead beast's prick again and I'll make sure _yours_ is served up, you overgrown flea." grunted Stoutjaw.

"What, all eight inches of it?"

"More like two.

"Yeah, 'cause yo' mama loves it," he shot back.

"I never knew my mother. Now get your arse out and eat," grunted Stoutjaw

He and the fat weasel laughed, and he took his food to sit... hmm. Ah! There. Some Pathfinder NCOs.

He plopped down on the bench.

He tucked away everything but the cheese, because, really, it looked like some corpse's unmentionables. Yech.

"Hey, Tred," he heard Verjik say.

"S'up?"

"You told me you'd tell us why you got busted back down to sergeant... _again_."

Oh, that. It was only a week ago that he'd been—finally—a staff sergeant. And, whoopee-doo, he was now a good 'ole sarge again. Fun times.

"Meh, it was a standard SNAFU. My old L-T was a humorless arse-chewer. All I did was tell him his mother was a two-coin whore who got pregnant by the ugliest toad possible and was born in a latrine. And I was drunk! You'd think he'd cut a beast some slack! He was _such_ an arsehole."

"Oh yeah, I'll bet," he heard Verjik chuckle.


	12. Chapter 9: Resolutions

**_PRIDE OF KAVAZARA_**

By

Gregory P. Wong

* * *

**Chapter Nine: Resolutions**

* * *

Okay, she and the other lieutenant were finally down the mountain. The forests weren't too bad, and little ponds here and there gave them fresh water for cleaning and drinking. And the dirt was soft, not packed with little arsehole pebbles. 

Still, though... the fur was bothering her. Now would be a good time, wouldn't it?

Whatever. Maybe in a few minutes.

Tigron was leading the way now, since the sand marten looked like he knew what he doing. Besides, the other Wraith held that mechbow like a Pathfinder scout leader. Obviously a good trailblazer. Too bad Tigron was such a pain though.

Wasn't he?

"We should stop here now." Well, it _was_ dark, but who cared? "It's late, and we'd better get some shut-eye."

"The reason being?" she needled.

"The reason being that this is a strange forest, we're tired, and I'm sure as heck not going to stumble around in the dark and have some Dervaga chop our arses," she heard the sand marten growl.

But... No, scratch that. Another night wouldn't be bad. Besides, she could ask...

She and Tigron set their stuff down, got a small fire started and unrolled their blankets. It kind of sucked to sleep in armor, but life was never a walk in the park.

"I'll take first watch," Tigron said simply. "Get your rest."

Whoa! No way she was letting Tigron slip past this opportunity.

"Cool," she growled, "but I have one teensy-eensy thing I need you to answer for."

"Yeah?" Tigron snapped, but, ooh, the sand marten had just tensed a bit. Yep, she had the bastard, whatever Tigron had done.

"Explain _these_," she spat, and held up the brown hairs right in Tigron's muzzle.

Blood drained away from the other lieutenant's face. She swore she heard Tigron gasp "Fark."

"Yeah, 'fark'. You'd better have some good excuses for how these hairs _got under my tunic_, or there will be Hellgates to pay, sandscratcher."

Damn. For some reason, insulting Tigron left her with a funny feeling in her stomach. Cripes, were those remorseful feelings still bouncing around there?

Yes, they were.

"I... You..." stammered the other lieutenant.

"What? Wanted to sneak a feel, _Tigron_? Couldn't find a date, _Tigron_?" she snarled. Damn, she was pissed.

And then the sand marten lost the shocked expression and plastered something that looked almost like anger, but with something... else? Tigron shot to his footpaws.

"I did it because you would have died, _Raezel_!" she watched Tigron roar as he fumbled in his belt for something. "Dammit, I don't know if it was the motherfarking right decision, but I wasn't letting you die out there in the damned desert!"

Uh... what?

Fleacrap! That's what had happened! She hadn't been feeling tired, she'd been getting heatstroke.

"And, fleacrap, you know what? Explain _these_, why don't you?"

And she watched Tigron hold up some white hairs.

Oh, no.

She'd made sure Tigron wouldn't have a clue of what she'd done, so how...

Oh, spiderspit, she'd missed some stuff. Oh, Hellgates... now _her_ blood was probably flowing away from _her_ face

But, guess what? She was angry right now, and... something was up. What was that weird emotion bouncing around right now?

"Oh, those?" she growled. "I don't know about you, but I didn't feel like letting you turn into the world's first frozen marten."

And then, weird, the anger drained out. Those words just... what? Calmed?

Weird as it was, Tigron wasn't looking livid right now, either.

Silence.

But something was bugging her.

"Tigron..." she said softly. "Why?"

She saw the other Wraith stiffen a bit, then relax. Well, time to hear it.

"You and I... we have too much in common to let the other die so easily. The moment you die, I'm all alone with the memories and the pain," Tigron said quietly.

The pain... her family... Tigron's family...

Were those tears building up in those brown eyes?

"You know, I've talked to other beasts back at Bladestone, and I still haven't met one who can say they've been through the crap you and me have been through. _That_'_s_ why I just didn't let you bake."

She saw a muscle jerk on the sand marten's cheek. The other Wraith's voice was getting weird, too...

"If you died, a part of me would die."

* * *

Wow, that was probably the stupidest thing to say. Now— 

Wait a minute! Raezel's eyes just went all watery, like she was about to...

Cry? Raezel crying?

Of course the snow vixen could cry. He'd seen it firsthand, after all. Shock number gazillion of the night.

He watched the other lieutenant take a couple of deep breaths.

"I guess that's sort of the same reasons why I just didn't let you freeze," Raezel whispered. "I'm not exactly a brave beast, y'know? I can't stand being alone with all that pain."

"No, don't say that," he said, "you are brave. Heck, a coward would have just written me off and let me die. No, you're..." Damn, that was getting out of paw. "Never mind." Why the _heck_ had he just said _that_?

Raezel looked at him oddly.

"Tigron, that was... I don't know. Revealing, I guess," the snow vixen said quietly. "Well, I have some things to say, too."

He waited. What now? This was turning into one screwy night.

"You know how we always had nothing to say to each other but insults and all that?" He heard Raezel exhale and shake her head. "You know, I've always just blurted those things out, and I never really took a look at my feelings. Spiderspit, it was natural, I guess.

"But you know what? I just really thought about it right now. Every 'sandscratcher!' was, I don't know, _affecting_ me. Cripes, every time I hurt you... I... I was hurting myself. Those were the flutterings I got in my heart every time I knocked you down."

Holy spiderspit. That was so bizarre.

Because it was like him, too. Now that he thought about it... every little unkind thing he spat at the snow fox was hurting him, too, hurting him bad. The snow fox never deserved any of that total crap. None of it.

Weird, how it took a couple of open hearts to change perceptions like this.

But opening hearts could only go so far. Mouths needed to work.

"Raezel," he croaked. Damn, and his throat, of course, picked this moment to be dry. "No, I don't think you're stupid for feeling that way, since, heck, that's how I felt too." He gulped. This was gonna be weird. "Raezel... I'm sorry for all those times. Whichever you and I can remember. I..." What else could he farking say to fix all that pain?

Raezel spoke up. What? "Tigron, me too. All that I ever said to you to hurt you, I'm sorry, so sorry"

Silence.

Huh? Something felt different. It was like some metaphorical boulder had just been taken from his shoulders. And, without that little regret down there, something was... different.

Was Raezel Snowdance now a... a... _friend_? Was it possible?

Of course it farking was. It had always been.

But... really now. Despite all those hurts and pains and crap, something was weird about it all. He'd never thought about it, but Raezel had always been a friend. No matter what he said to her, or what she slapped down on him, somehow he didn't want her to leave his life. It was a weird friendship and all, but...

But what in Dark Forest was this now?

Drat, were they now... even closer?

And then he noticed Raezel was very near to him. Well, yeah, the snow fox had been about ready to bite his head off. Now...

She was beautiful, maybe even more so in the firelight. The tears... Heck, it showed that the other Wraith had feelings too... surprise, surprise. And it didn't make his feel out of place.

But Raezel was so close. Those bright blue eyes, that snow-white fur, those beautiful fine features.

But the look now. No more anger... just, something else.

And then Raezel hugged him. He hugged the snow vixen back.

"Tigron, Tigron, I'm so sorry," Raezel quavered. "We've always been so damned close, but I was too _stupid_. All that 'sandscratcher' and all."

Was that true? Probably. No, definitely. He and her had something that he had never felt when he talked to other beasts.

"Raezel, that makes two of us. But that can be changed."

Damn, that was a trite thing to say. And—

His muzzle was dipping down slightly. What was he—

And he felt his lips lock with Raezel's as his arm wrapped around her body.

Holy heck, it was... wonderful.

And then he felt his body sink to the ground, taking Raezel's with it.

And then...

* * *

Only another day before the horde reached Redwall. 

Tanth tore his gaze from the starlit sky and strolled about the camp slowly strolling past Grimtooth's sleeping place.

Yes, yes, nothing out of the ordinary. Hordebeasts were sitting around campfires, warming themselves. Ah... to just be able to sit and enjoy a nice fire and not worry about Grimtooth's counsel.

Or other things.

And—

_Crunch_!

What was that?

A figure had just _flown_ out of Grimtooth's tent. Looked like a ferret or weasel, and the moonlight showed that the beast had a light fur, almost gold... Oh, no, was it...

Veredia?

He felt his throat go dry. Veredia was completely naked, freshly bruised, a bit bloody on the back, fur matted with sweat and... other substances.

Grimtooth, Grimtooth, why?

Well, it didn't look like the chieftain was coming out, so Veredia was unquestionably "done" for the night. Hmm... that was a first. When was the last time he'd seen the slave dismissed from the tent?

Never.

Damnation.

He hurried over to the sobbing ferret and knelt next to her. Good thing the guards hadn't down anything, or he'd have had them doing some extremely unpleasant extra duty the next day.

He placed a paw on the fem's shoulder.

"Please, please, I'll do whatever you want. Just don't hurt me anymore!" he heard the other ferret sob.

"No, no, I won't—"

He stopped. Veredia had just passed out.

Damn, a dilemma. It would be best to leave the slave here. Oh, the guards might have a touch of sport with the other ferret, but nothing worse than that.

And that was _completely_ wrong.

He hefted the fem up. Not too bad... Veredia was so thin.

He propped the female onto his shoulders and walked back to his own tent. Ugh, _now_ was the time for the regret of keeping his tent near the edge of the camp to set in. But, still, at least Veredia was light...

He placed the unconscious beast on his sleeping blankets.

Now, light a small fire—the hole in the center of the tent allowed smoke to leave, conveniently—warm some water, prep some bandages, and bring out some herbs. It was good that Father had known a bit about medicines and plants.

He dipped a washcloth into the hot water and began to clean off the female. Poor thing...

"Nooo!" he heard the slave scream as the washcloth passed over her face.

"Shh," he murmured. By Dark Forest, this had better be a soothing tone... "I won't harm you. Don't squirm, or you'll just aggravate your cuts."

Well, Veredia wasn't fighting anymore, but the beating of the heart was still fast.

"What are you going to do? Please, not more—"

No, no, none of that. "Veredia"—he made sure to say her name very softly—"I'm not going to do anything to you except do my best to tend to you. Satisfactory, yes?"

"But why?"

Damnation, _that_ was it. How sad... Veredia had obviously never been shown unconditional kindness, and this was coming as a shock.

"Because there are beasts in this world who actually show compassion." Hmm... "But I'll have to admit that this horde is a poor place to find them."

Veredia blinked those emerald eyes in what looked like puzzlement. Then they widened into shock.

"Am I that far gone already?" he heard Veredia whisper.

What was that supposed to mean? "Hmm?"

"It's because I... never mind. You don't need to hear it."

Exceedingly strange. Was Veredia actually displaying signs of confidence now?

Well, it would best to not make a comment on it, no?

He continued cleaning Veredia's body. Though, really, it was a rather nice body...

No! Those thoughts had to go. Veredia had to do seasons knew what in Grimtooth's tent.

He swabbed the rest of her—of course, without staring at certain parts—and wrapped a bandage around the female ferret's left thigh, which had a relatively deep cut. Otherwise, it would be better to let the other scratches and cuts to air-dry.

He dug around one of his packs for... ah, there. The trousers and tunic were a bit tattered, and would be probably large on Veredia, but they would suffice. Well, it would be best to look away while the other ferret dressed. Not that he hadn't seen... everything.

Well, that was that. Veredia was in decent condition.

And that was a complete lie. But...

"Veredia, I've done the best I can. Go and get some rest."

He turned to meet the female's eyes.

"What is it, Veredia?"

He watched Veredia's eyes lower.

"How can I thank you?"

He almost blurted it out, how the other ferret could thank him, but his integrity wouldn't allow it. That was shameful that it even came to his mind! How... how... despicable.

"There's no need to thank me. I just do what any decent-hearted beast should do. But, as I said, decent hearts are scarce here."

He watched Veredia nod sadly. My, how her demeanor had changed so drastically! The female wasn't looking timid, and was that steel in that spine? But that steel wasn't as hard as it should be, completely, and neither was she completely confident. Indeed if Grim—

Veredia was suddenly very close.

"There is a way I can thank you, with the only thing I can offer."

He suddenly noticed that Veredia's green eyes were nearly brimming over with tears. And that her nearly emaciated face had a shadow of beauty to it. And...

No.

"Veredia... I can't accept that! It's not... I can't—"

And then Veredia's finger was pressed to his lips. That was a hint to stop talking, but... but...

"Shh, Tanth. You're not forcing yourself on me. I freely give of myself. Hush now."

And then he felt Veredia's lips meet his.

* * *

Nice pillow. 

It was great to be on a decent bed again, really. And, hah hah, no armor! That stuff made her stiff as a rock, and it was great to be out of it. And it was warm too, not that open-air sleep-inside-a-blanket chill that was almost always present. Really, it felt like somebeast was next to her or something. She felt a bit of an ache over some parts of her body, but, oh well, she could just barely feel them now. It was better to think about the bed than to think about last night... such an emotional thing, if truth be told.

To think that Tigron had saved her too, and that she had finally admitted to how she felt for every insult she tossed at Tigron. Really now.

Speaking of more pleasant things to think about, this was kind of a weird position, though. She was half on her left side, her front pressing against something. Her head was resting on something hard and warm. Her right leg was also draped over something. Weird thing, too. The object in question was warm, furred, muscular, and—

_Muscular_?

Raezel's eye popped open, and she saw Tigron's open up at the same time. The sun was just rising.

Wha...?

"GAAHH!" she screamed, taking her head off Tigron's chest and rolling off.

"YEEHH!" Tigron yelped at the same time, also scrambling away.

Okay, what in the world _was this_? Cuddly time with Tigron wasn't exactly the—

Oh, geez.

She'd been under the covers, yeah, and so had Tigron. And she had just rolled out of the covers, and so did Tigron. And thus she wasn't under the covers, and neither was Tigron.

And she was completely naked, and so was Tigron.

What in farking, spiderspit-sloshing, fleacrap-biting—

"What did we... _Did_ we... how...?" she heard Tigron splutter.

And then she remembered. Oh. Damn.

"For your first question," she muttered wryly," the word you're looking for is probably 'screw.' The second one is 'yes we did.' And the third—"

"Would be 'very energetically, after removing clothing' yeah," she heard Tigron finish.

Okay, shock ranked number one of all things shocking. Yep.

She watched Tigron rub his head. "Wow... this is weird. One minute we were going to knock each other's head off, and then..."

There really wasn't a need to finish.

She shivered. Spiderspit, it wasn't cold, but she'd been so nice and cozy. She heard Tigron take a breath.

And then Tigron got back under the covers and gave her a pointed look.

Okay... So she and Tigron had, er, _done_ things last night. Did that mean she should be affectionate to Tigron too? After all, past all the emotional stuff from last night, that meditation thing was still strange. Should their relationship be this serious?

That was a stupid question.

She crawled back under the blanket. Better prop her head up with her arm, since there was a lot to talk about now.

Yes, talk. Talk would be good.

"So," she started, "you think we can work this out?"

"You know, I'd lie if I just said 'yes, easily,'" she heard him admit. "We'll have to work pretty damn hard to keep us from driving each other nuts."

Oh, yeah, so true. "I know. Cripes." Hmm, she just had a thought. "But you know what, if we both work really, really hard, we could probably pull it off, your meditation things notwithstanding."

She saw Tigron shoot her a disbelieving look. "Huh? My _meditation_ will be the problem? Excuse _me_, but your whole 'action, action, and more action' mentality will be the difficult part."

What? No way. Tigron's whole­—

No, no, no. It was just both of them found the other a bit different. And, another thing...

"That was funny. Our first little fight." She chuckled.

Tigron smiled slightly and rolled over onto his back. "Yeah, lover's quarrel. True, it was kind of a dumb subject, but, oh well."

Lover's quarrel... fights only lovers had.

Well, that probably settled it.

She placed her head on Tigron's chest again so that she could the see the sky. Oh yeah, Tigron deserved a nice compliment.

"By the way, Tigron, thanks for last night. It was very nice."

Was that a pause? "Oh... yeah. Heh, no problem. You too."

"No, really, it was good. Well, I haven't exactly had _anything_ to compare it to, but it felt good, so that's a good sign, huh?"

Tigron, yes, was a good-looking beast, and chances were that he'd had plenty of fems hanging around. Which meant plenty of, er, experience. The only way she had resisted that face was because of that pesky self-imposed fake-yet-real-feeling-vendetta.

But, er, _why_ was her new lover looking surprised?

"Whoa, wait a second. You think I had, uh you know, before?" She watched the other lieutenant scratch his head. "But I thought you were the one who had, uh, experience. I was going to thank _you_."

Ooh-kay. That explained it. Kind of humorous, though.

She let out a laugh. "Well, that was funny. Two virgins mistaking the other one to be the non-virgin." She laughed.

She felt Tigron shrug. "Well, it seemed appropriate, I guess. Has a nice romantic feel to it, too." There was a pause. "Wow, did I really just say that?"

"Yep to both comment and question, Tigron."

Might as well laugh along with the sand marten because, heck, it _was_ funny.

And now seemed like a nice time for quiet. Hmm... Tigron's heartbeat was somehow a comforting feeling.

She felt some paws running over her body. She gave the other Wraith a look.

She saw Tigron shrug. "Well, we do have some time before the sun rises completely, and I was thinking, you know, last night we were kinda out of it with all the crying and emotional baggage. Um, so, if you want to..."

She snorted. Come on, Tigron. "Tigron, if you think I wouldn't, you're aren't half as smart as I think you are."

"Save me from my stupidity."

"I would if you had any."

She laughed, and she heard Tigron chortle too.

Well... now time for something... enticing. Ah, there was a good one.

She raised up her body and flopped it gently—more or less—onto the male's chest. Tigron was so handsome.

She knew she had a grin plastered on her face. "Now, let's put our minds to work for something creative, hmm?"

* * *

Wetness on his chest... what? 

Tanth opened his eyes and looked down. Ah, not quite "down" since he was on his back, but towards his footpaws.

Veredia was crying very gently. What in seasons?

"Veredia, what's wrong?"

He saw the female look up into his eyes. "You, Tanth, that's what. Not exactly 'wrong,' but..."

What? "What did—"

"You were mindful of me, that's what! I was thanking _you_, but you made sure _I_ enjoyed it too! Tanth, what beasts do in bed says much about them. You didn't have to show me any consideration, considering the circumstances, yet you did, without any selfish motive to do so." He watched Veredia wipe away some tears. "You possess a very good heart, Tanth, so why are you in _this_ horde?"

He felt himself bristle. "That's _my_ business, Veredia."

He felt the weight leave his chest. Veredia was now sitting up and looking at him. And, yes, those tears were now gone.

"I would wager that you always say that. Please, I would like to know. It might be useful, no?"

Oh, this was going too far. He sat up. "I said—"

"I heard what you said," he heard the female snap. "I just think something is obscenely wrong when somebeast like you throws in his lot with Grimtooth." Veredia blinked, and he noticed that her voice had softened. "Sorry. I just want to know, Tanth. For my peace of mind."

He sighed. Fair enough. But first...

"Do you believe there is good in everybeast's soul, even Grimtooth's?"

Now he saw Veredia blink in what was certainly confusion. "No, of course not, not _everybeast_ has good."

He nodded. "I think otherwise."

Ah, that had the foreseen effect. Verdia was speechless.

"Every time I recite this story to myself, the more outrageous it seems." He gave a sad sigh. "Oh, yes indeed.

When I was young, no more than thirteen seasons old, a friend of mine, an older stoat named Woodsnout, was having a bit of a... spat with another stoat family. It was something about trading prices. I'm an orphan, so I wandered a bit, staying with different families when they would take me in. This stoat family was my current host.

"In any case, I noticed that Woodsnout was getting more and more disgruntled, to the point that he actually told me he was going to attempt physical harm on the others. Of course, I would try my best to prevent it. I think Woodsnout _had_ been cheated, but I didn't want bloodshed to come of it.

"I did my best to curb him, but he was relentless, I eventually grew frustrated and just left.

That same night, Woodsnout set fire to the cabin. I barely escaped, but the family..."

Damnation, it had been so _horrifying_. Fire-twisted skeletons, meat not nearly as charred as it should have been... the smell... He shook his head.

"I later found out that Woodsnout committed suicide after fleeing the relatives of the family he murdered. And then I joined Grimtooth."

He saw Veredia blink again. "I don't understand, Tanth. How does this explain why you accompany Grimtooth?"

He sighed again. "Don't you see, Veredia? If I had convinced Woodsnout to reconsider his actions, nobeast would have had to die. I stay with Grimtooth in order to save his soul, Veredia. This is a way to repay for my past failure."

Well, Veredia looked ready to ask a multitude of questions.

But the slave didn't. How strange.

"And when will you decide enough is enough, Tanth? Dark Forest, don't Grimtooth's actions even disturb you?"

Oh, of course they did... indeed. "Yes, most definitely, yes. Almost every order that he gives bothers me. Yet, I have yet to disobey or neglect any of those orders."

"Then how could you—"

"Because I must, or else this will haunt me forever."

_That_ sounded harsh, the way it was said, with finality and bitterness. Seasons...

But... now why was Veredia nodding?

"Tanth, we each have our personal demons," the female wisped. "I... hope you can succeed."

The silence was perhaps the most fitting setting for this situation. No need to interrupt it with some potentially stupid comment.

Veredia fit herself into his old garments. A poor fit, yes, but was better than nothing. This was now a good time to fit into his own clothes. He glanced a look at Veredia.

Hellgates, the clothes hanging from that frame threw the other ferret's abused state into startling blatancy.

Veredia reached out. What? Oh, most likely for his paw. He put a paw out—the female's didn't retreat, so this wasn't a mistake—and squeezed Veredia's.

"Tanth. I... Thank you for everything, for taking care of me, and for... reminding me that what Grimtooth does to me is only a mockery of what should truly happen."

He let himself nod slowly. "And thank _you_ for listening and lending me your encouragement." Oh, was this next a good choice? "Veredia?"

"Yes?"

"If..." No, no... never think that! "_When_ I can finally change Grimtooth... might there be a chance you and I...?"

He saw Veredia's eyes mist with moisture. He watched the ferret female set her jaw. "Tanth, we will cross that bridge when we come to it."

And then he watched Veredia leave his tent.

And go back towards Grimtooth's.

* * *

"If we keep up this pace we can reach Redwall in what, three and a half days?" Tigron heard Raezel ask. 

That seemed about right. "Something like that. Unless we run into something."

"Yeah."

He and the snow fox wandered through the forest. And, spiderspit, what a forest. There were so many types of _damned_ _trees_. Geez, Pathfinders would have a field day devising ambushes in this place.

Of course, it could work both ways. The Dervaga could ambush _them_.

Well, he just had to keep himself alert, both physically and psionically, and it'd be all good. After all, a Dervaga would give a little mind-ping and—

_Ping_.

Oh, drat.

Raezel obviously felt it too, since the snow fox also stopped and crouched, paws near Frost.

Fleacrap... irony again.

He knelt behind some underbrush, his back to a large oak, and yanked his hood over his head and pulled the cloak—thankfully with camouflage side out—tight around his body. He scanned the area, keeping the mechbow up.

Drat, now was the time he regretted not outfitting it with a scope. Argh.

Then he felt more signatures. A lot more. Holy fleacrap, it felt like at least ten dozen.

"_There_!" he felt Raezel mindspeak to him.

Where... oh, there.

Strange as heck, but fortunate. The beasts that had been detected weren't Dervaga, just regular beasts, thank Dark Forest. Hmm... Whoever they were, they were farking good scouts. They seemed to melt into the background.

But wait a second... there were too few. They must be scouts for a larger force.

"_I think so, too_," Raezel mindspoke. Goody, the snow fox was reading minds again!

"_They_'_re good at what they do, at least_. _Heh_."

"_Yep_. _But I think the average Pathfinder could show _'_em a thing or two_."

He gave a little chuckle. "_Maybe_. _They_ _look_ _like_ _they_ _know_ _what_ _they_'_re_ _doing_."

Ah, there! The main force was in view now. Hmm, impressive.

It looked like a tall, wiry stoat was leading them. Said stoat was clad in black tunic and trousers, the shirt having a marking of three white claws on it. The outfit was completed with a—big surprise—black cloak.

The stoat was definitely a big-shot, since there were at least five beasts no more than ten feet from him at all times. One guard was a female stoat, and by the way the boss sometimes talked to her, it looked like those two were... well, involved. Nice-looking stoat, definitely, with a body to match. It looked like the fem was limping ever so slightly, but the stoat could probably give Raezel a run for her money.

"_Hey_, _I heard that_!"

Uh-oh. That wasn't a good sign

"_Uh_, _look_, _I_—"

"_Tigron_,s_hut up_. _No_, _I_'_m not angry_. _I_'_m actually flattered that you compared me to her_. I_ think that stoat_'_s good-looking_, _and I_'_m as straight as your _sword."

Well, that was fortunate.

The horde continued walking past. Some beasts here and there, about, what, a dozen? had bars sewn onto their tunics. Some had two, while others only had one. Probably marks of rank.

It looked like whole lot of them was heading south, too, towards Mossflower and Redwall. That wasn't good. While the beasts didn't look near as good as a disciplined Templar company, they looked deadly enough. Yep, if those beasts wanted to get into Redwall, they probably could. It would probably be prudent to take a look at the leader's head. After all, the more intel, the easier it would be to fight these beasts if it came down to the dance.

Hmm... Okay.

The leader's name was Kiern, and his horde was a mercenary unit called the Nighthunt. There were... five separate units, the Nightfangs, the Nightarms, the Nightblood, the Nighteyes—goody, goody, the scouts—and the Nightfang personal guard. Oh, he'd been right, too! The stoat fem was a guard, and was also Kiern's mate. The unit was about the size of a standard Kavazaran company

Of course, with him, Raezel and—

"Captain! I think I saw something!" he heard a voice shout. "I'm not sure, but something's by the trees over there."

There. A rat was pointing... uh-oh.

"I think this is the time we run away," he muttered to the other lieutenant.

"Guess what? I sure as heck agree with you."

He concentrated his psychic power and let it run through his body.

Now, for the disappearing act...

He entered his wraith form and slipped _into_, and then _out through_, the oak. He sensed Raezel do the same.

Well, now the scouts were obviously spoofed... and that meant _now_ was the perfect time to run _very quickly_.

Great, now he and Raezel were going to need to _run_ to Redwall. Oh, perfect.

* * *

"Oh, perfect, they got away," Kiern heard Captain Dersa mutter darkly. "Even better, some of the Nighteyes tell me the two beasts became puffs of smoke that vanished into the tree." 

"Ah, I think that's a sign the alcohol needs to be locked away," he heard Bladefall say airily.

"You may be right, Captain."

Hellsteeth, though, that two unidentified beasts had somehow escaped the notice, and then apprehension, of the Nighteyes. That should have been nigh impossible.

But it had been done.

He raised a paw.

"It's not a major issue. In any case, we should halt our march and make camp. No sense in pushing forward when something is prowling these woods."

"Yessir."


	13. Chapter 10: ETAD

**_PRIDE OF KAVAZARA_**

By

Gregory P. Wong

* * *

**Chapter Ten: ETAD**

* * *

Slydant knew it was almost time to depart. He reached toward the bracelet on his left wrist, tapped the crystal to get it to "cyan" frequency, and spoke.

"All Templars, be prepared to move out. We leave in ten. High Templars, get ready to sally."

This was a nice force he managed to scrounge up. All had good officers, and most beasts had some fighting experience in engaging the odd bandit force or rabble. True, true, the companies were all from different battalions and even regiments, but that shouldn't be too much of a problem.

The Echo Company of the 125th Line Battalion was under Captain Elvop, a male pine marten. Line units withstood the brunt of the enemy, and thus had to be pretty damned disciplined and cohesive. Echo, 125th was very good at swift line shifts and formation changes. The captain was young, but the pine marten did show promise.

The 124th's Alpha Company had a middle-aged rat captain, Suranto Hammerpaw, as CO. The 124th was also a line battalion, and Hammerpaw was very resilient and crafty, as seen when his old unit retook a small settlement from some brigands while being outnumbered two-to-one.

And Hammerpaw's exploits were completely without support, though he was sure the rat didn't have a problem with proper archers. Captain Caerev, a petite weasel fem, handled the 242nd Archery Battalion's Bravo Company. The one hundred-twenty archers used hollowed-steel longbows nearly six feet tall that fired arrows a yard long. Those longbows could reach targets up to 200 yards away, and experienced longbowbeasts could hit beast-sized targets while firing at rates of one arrow every five seconds. Because of the extra weight of the missile weapons, archery units only carried short swords as melee weapons, not the shields and assegai of the line units.

A mixed company of medical, logistical, and engineering also tagged along. That contingent's leader was a large-eyed female fox, Captain Trepikka. That unit would come in handy in those odd, bastardized situations that _always_ occurred on the battlefield.

And of course, his old unit! Cohort Kappa, now under Diis. Each High Templar carried an eight-foot three-bladed corseca and a 55-inch paw-and-a-half sword, not to mention _at least_ a half dozen throwing knives. All those weapons were excellent for birdback or ground fighting.

Speaking of birds... the dustrunners were major parts of High Templar "equipment," too. Cavalry would be impossible without them, no?

Generally speaking, a dustrunner was about eight feet long from beak to tailtip, and stood about six feet at the neck. Though the birds could fly, they preferred running. And, spiderspit, could they run! Those heavily muscled leg could move a mounted warrior two hundred yards in just under twenty seconds. In addition, the razor-sharp beak of a good dustrunner could gut somebeast in a flash. Dustrunners were said to be a variant of, a bird called a... what? "Roadrunner"? Yes, that was it.

Not only were the soldiers heavily armed, but they were heavily armored as well. Yes, that didn't count the Pathfinders, but that was a special case.

Templars hefted strong alwite—meaning the armor wasn't covered by another material—plate armor and chain mail that, while well-articulated, emphasized strength over agility. The chain mail went on under the plate, and mostly protected joints. The helmets were open-faced, and had full cheek guards.

High Templar armor, on the other paw, focused more on mobility than the Templar armor. Crimson Guards had the same basic steel leather-faced armor as the Wraiths—not to be confused with the pure-leather scout armor—but was more ornate. Fine chain mail was put first, followed by the perfectly made lamed armor. The helmets were similar in design to the Templars', but no surprise, was more decorated and had two protruding crests near the ears.

As the commanding officer, his armor was slightly different. Instead of a pauldron, his left arm was covered by a heavily worked and decorated rerebrace. _That_ distinct shap

"Praetor, everybeast's ready, sir," he heard the voice of Major Kleea Silverstorm, his XO.

Yes, a Wraith executive officer. How simply unorthodox.

But, yes, the whole unit was unorthodox.

Silverstorm was a small, willowy ferret. And the fem had some odd weaponry, too. Silverstorm carried two "Stormcallers", which were essentially three-bladed wrist claws. Silverstorm was relatively young for a Wraith—forty-one. War Marshal Razorfang had vouched for the ferret, and he trusted the Templar/Wraith commander. Besides, Silverstorm _looked_ competent.

"Thank you, Major. I'll need to make sure the supply 'runners are ready."

"Oh, about that, sir. I took the liberty of prepping the supply-carriers. They're ready to move, as well."

Hmm... on second thought, this ferret fem was _definitely_ competent.

"Thank you, Major."

"No problem, sir."

Well, it looked like it was time to go. He straightened his cloak and mounted his 'runner, Snappy. The bad-tempered, bloodthirsty idiot was trying to bite again.

"You stupid thing, I'm _not dinner_!" he growled and slapped the feathery idiot's beak. He watched Snappy promptly lose interest in procuring an arm for a meal. Good.

Now, time to raise his wraithcomm to his mouth. "Companies, let's go!"

* * *

"Swift journey to you all," Serai whispered to the receding relief forces. The battlements gave an excellent view.

"They will need that help, my wife," she heard Tritan say from behind her. "We, on the other paw..."

Damnation, it was so true.

Sometime during the night when Slydant was preparing his troops, the fog shrouding the Dervaga horde had lifted. Both forward scouts with binoculars and some of Pinionmaster Steelwing's had confirmed something so horrifying it was silly.

The horde marching on Bladestone wasn't a piddling fifty thousand, but rather _one hundred-twenty-five_ thousand!

They were all, simply, going to die. Well trained as the Kavazarans were, ten-to-one odds were too overwhelming.

But, no sense in regretting it. There was no turning back. The only thing to do was to break the Dervaga badly enough so that Slydant's force would have a chance of safeguarding Redwall.

"We're nowhere near enough, Tritan," she breathed.

"I know that, Serai, and it somehow doesn't bother me as much as it should."

True, yet Tritan still felt an element of apprehension. But that was normal, no? It would be hopeless in the end, but she, Tritan, and each and every Bladestone Templar had a duty to perform.

"Tritan! Serai!" she heard a familiar accented voice call out. Ah, Rid.

"Hello, Rid," she heard her husband reply.

Of course, Rid did the kneeling paw-kissing stint. She smiled.

"Ah wan' tae hear it from yew, Tritan: is this true?"

Her husband sighed loudly. "Yes, my friend, I'm afraid it is."

"Ach, bluddy Hellgates."

"Oh, I ardently agree," she huffed.

"Aye. In tha' case, moight I soogest something?"

"I'm all ears," Her husband said.

"Weel, there's something we 'ad dewn south. It's called eated.

"What? You have a grammatically incorrect verb for the past form of 'to eat'?" she poked.

"Ach, not 'eated', lass. E-T-A-D. More o' less, it means 'eat this an' die.'"

Hmm... that sounded interesting. A quick scan at Rid's head could give some information.

Well... wow...

ETAD was a sort of defiant gesture of some poor force that didn't have much longer to live. Like a heavily outnumbered force laughing and charging down the enemy's throat or a garrison lighting a fire in the town when the enemy came on.

But... _this_ Eat-This-And-Die for Bladestone looked far more interesting.

"Rid, I think you have a good plan..."

* * *

"It was really unfortunate that we couldn't send a recall out to Praetor Slydant," Tritan said to his wife and they waited for a particular Wraith in the council chamber

"Yes. Of course, we'd thought we'd at least have a _decent_ _chance_ against the Dervaga force, and could thus possibly win. These odds are, quite bluntly, hideous," Serai pointed out.

"And I wish it weren't true." He let himself pause for a moment. He let out a chuckle. "My, my. Now that I think about it, I've never sent out so many summons in so short a time. Sunear must be tossing her grave, to see her former Arbiter playing secretary."

His wife just snorted.

But now, really, where was Blindsight? He'd sent out that corporal to find the stoat _ages_ ago. Where—

"Grand Marshal Longspear? Arbiter Galecut? I am here," he heard a low, somewhat eerie voice wisp from behind him.

Well, it was somewhat amusing to see Serai whirl around, paws clenched on Mist and Rain. Wife and bodyguard, through and through.

Only one beast could do that, enter the chamber without him knowing. And only one beast insisted on referring to him at all times by his military rank.

Yes, that would be Captain Blindsight. He saw Serai relax.

"Oh, Captain, is it _that_ difficult to actually _use_ the door like everybeast else does?" he said. Oh, it was impossible to keep the grin from his face, wasn't it? No matter.

"Under most circumstances, Grand Marshal, I would. However, you wished to see me as soon as possible, and thus I decided to bypass your security. As the saying goes, 'it seemed a good idea at the time.'"

Hah. Sometimes, that stoat was such a character. He turned around.

The Wraith bowed.

Blindsight was a small, jet-black stoat, no more than five and a quarter feet. Youngish too, probably no more than thirty-four. The other Wraith was wiry and dressed in the—usual—non-regulation dark red form-fitting clothing he seemed to prefer. That outfit covered Blindsight from ankles to wrists to neck. A wonder the stoat never wore something else in hot weather.

But, maybe that was because Blindsight was a foreigner. The captain had said he'd come from the far eastern islands, and had traveled inward. Blindsight's nearly undetectable accent said so, in any case.

Plus, what weapons those easterners made! Blindsight's main weapon, the eastern-designed straight saber Fade, was, of course, on Blighsight's back, nearly centered. It was off to the left a bit, but that was because Blindsight was probably right-pawed. Fade was an odd weapon, as well. The blade was only just above two feet in length, but the hilt that came on it was something that should have been slapped onto a two-handed weapon! The hilt was nearly a foot in length. However, he'd seen Blindsight use it one- or two-pawed, depending on the situation.

The weapon itself was a work of art, though, from when he'd seen it. The single-edged blade had the watery-silver-gray patterns of damascene steel, and it was heavily decorated with brass and gold. No wraithstones to add strength to the blade, unless Blindsight had seen a blacksmith, but it was a very well made, resilient weapon.

Even the scabbard was odd. The top of the metal-plated wood sheath jutted out like an odd lip, about two-inches out. It was an odd design, but very useful. Though he'd never seen it, it was supposedly to snag somebeast's sword between the saber's guard and the sheath.

Even Blindsight's other weapons were unorthodox, save the Wraith knife, and even that was put in an odd place. The captain had the knife, hilt-down, strapped to his left bicep. Goodness, what Blindsight had. Grappling hooks and lines, throwing darts, and even some types of blinding dust.

Of course, that was because Blindsight wasn't, technically, a Wraith.

He grunted a chuckle. "Well, no matter, Captain. I just don't want my wife's soldiers to feel trivialized."

He watched the stoat give a little nod. "Ah, that escaped my mind, Grand Marshal. Once I am finished, I shall apologize to the Praetorians stationed outside."

He heard his wife snort. "Only if you want to, Captain. It's no order."

"Yes, of course, Arbiter."

He cleared his throat. "Captain, we have a special assignment for you."

He saw the captain nod. "I guessed as much, sir."

"As you probably already know, Bladestone will be engaging a _very _superior Dervaga force in a very short time.

"What we need you to do is take two centuries of Praetorians and reinforce Redwall, after gathering intelligence here."

Blindsight didn't move. And, goodness, it was hard to see into the stoat's mind. Well, that was obvious, since the stoat wasn't really a Wraith, but an Unseen.

Blindsight had explained it once. In the eastern places, the psionic powers of the beasts there were a tad different. Beasts specially trained to tap their powers were known as Unseen, stealth assassins.

Unseen had an expanded lifespan, like Wraiths... but that was it! Unseen could not read minds or emotions, couldn't enter wraith forms, or channel energy into their weapons.

But it was a decent tradeoff. The easterners could "stick" to walls like furry flies, become literally invisible, and even do something Blindsight called "limited teleportation." That last was probably how the Unseen had gotten in. Goodness, he'd lose plenty of sleep if Blindsight wanted to take him out. Unseen were, if Blindsight was typical, very, very effective assassins. They would probably—no, definitely—make Pathfinders look like stumbling drunks. Despite this, Blindsight had insisted on being referred to as a Wraith. Made sense, since, for all intents and purposes, Blindsight was a Kavazaran Wraith.

And another thing, possibly unique to Blindsight: he didn't need eyes to see.

Well, "Blindsight" had to have had an origin, of course.

A dark crimson scarf was tied over the stoat's eyes, so that the two ends dramatically dangled behind the Wraith's neck. The stoat had shown those eyes, once, and he was certain the stoat was blind. Though they _looked_ healthy, the pupils were this odd faded gray, and the eyeballs never moved an inch. Definitely blind. Blindsight never said what had happened, but he'd wager it had something to do with some psionics. Generally, losing sight without any physical damage to the eyes was a sure sign of that, no?

Whatever the circumstances, Blindsight functioned like any other soldier with eyeballs intact. Though the captain did have this odd habit of sometimes sweeping the room with an open palm.

"I shall do my duty, Grand Marshal, though I must confess I am disturbed by the fact I am not to engage in any battle Bladestone finds itself in."

That was understandable. "I know, Captain. If anything, the Praetorians I have set for this are even more perturbed."

"Centurian Crossback was particularly vehement," his wife added.

He saw a _tiny_ smile ghost the stoat's features. Well, he would have done the same.

Centurion Veetyr Crossback, in addition to being the stoat commanding officer for Tau Century, was also Blindsight's wife.

Oh, that was another thing Blindsight had brought to New Kavazara! The "_Kawasakin_" ritual. It was becoming damned popular with Wraiths.

Kawasakin, in a nutshell, "shared" the lifespan of two beasts. Thus, if a Wraith had a nominal lifespan of 250 seasons, and a normal had 90, both beasts would end up sharing 170. The normals also seemed to have a slight boost in physical abilities, too. 

This way, Wraiths could actually marry other beasts and not worry about the spouse becoming old-looking enough to be the Wraith's grandparent.

Oh, what interesting things Blindsight had brought to New Kavazara. Heh. He'd _love_ to see the Unseen's homeland.

"Ah, my wife is very keen on your safety, sir."

"As all Praetorians should be," he heard Serai say.

"Indeed, ma'am."

He smiled. "Well, that would be all for right now, Captain. I will give you a more intensive briefing when we get a better look at the Dervaga horde. You are dismissed, Captain."

He watched Blindsight bow. And then, with a reddish blur, Blindsight was gone.

Hellgates, that teleportation trick could be very useful!

* * *

In another room midway up in a tower, preparation for Rid Razorfang's ETAD were underway. First, engineers sealed up a room, covering windows with thick sheets of waxed paper. The room was quite big, eighty feet square and thirty tall. It would be an excellent room.

Next, for the second part of Razorfang's plan, came the barrels of fire-gas. Almost forty sixty-gallon barrels were going to be loaded into the room. And they were kept very, very sealed.

Fire-gas, as it was called, was discovered by some scouts looking up north, near the ice fields. The two civilians had found this pool of strange-smelling, nearly clear liquid. One rat bottled some and went back to his town to have some of the engineers and chemists look at it.

The rat, now in a temperate zone, unwittingly opened the bottle close to a fire.

The beast had his ears scorched off, but at least nobeast died.

Later, the strange properties of fire-gas were discovered. First, at low temperatures, fire-gas manifested itself as pools of thin, clear liquid that most likely bubbled up from the earth. Said liquid became an oily-smelling gas at normal room temperature.

However, the most valuable property for the ETAD plan was that fire-gas had a penchant, when exposed to flames or sparks, for exploding

Violently.


	14. Chapter 11: Before the Gates

**_PRIDE OF KAVAZARA_**

By

Gregory P. Wong

* * *

**Chapter Eleven: Before The Gates**

* * *

"We have no idea where they come from, but I can hazard a guess that they do mean us harm," Brother Audrin said.

Ugh, this was _unneeded_!

Winopal the otter kept a passive face. Aye, no need in alarming the rest of 'em.

She, Abbess Vivian, Mother Minerva, Brother Audrin, Wallace, Leena, Danforth, and the young, pretty gatekeeper squirrelmaid, Treamyst, were in the gatehouse, where nobeast could—or should, come to think of it—overhear.

"I think it's quite apparent, Brother," she heard Treamyst say testily. "If the otters hadn't done so good a job training me, I'd have been dead or carted off."

Ah, a nice compliment. Her mateys _had_ done a good job with teaching the squirrel female how to use the customary double-ended otter spears.

She heard Wallace groan. "This is truly excellent! First large beasts that almost kill Leena and me, second, beasts that melt into trees... and now _this_! Fortune must detest us now."

"Aye, well said Wallace. But 'member, fortune is a fickle thing," she said.

Goodness... was approaching forty making that brain think philosophy? Goodness! Getting along in seasons—though everybeast insisted thirty-eight wasn't old, but what did they know?—was... strange.

"I know, Winopal, but do we need a _horde_ now?" Wallace asked.

"The answer be 'nope' if yah asked me," she replied with a laugh.

"Everybeast, please! Can we stay on topic?" implored the Abbess.

There was silence for a moment. T'wasn't a nice topic, after all. A horde of unknown—but most likely superior—numbers was very, very bad sign.

Well, it could have been worse, such as if she and her otters weren't here.

"As I was saying, Abbess, I think it's obvious this group means us ill-will. For one, they are obviously vermin. Second, they clearly wanted to harm me," she heard the squirrelmaid say.

"Then it is clear. Our gates ought to remain shut until we can devise some method to make them move along," Leena suggested.

"I take your proposition as practical, Leena. It appears Redwall must once again become a place of battle."

She saw Vivian shake her head sadly. Poor Abbess. It had to pain the mouse to shut the gates to Redwall. After all, Redwall was a place that welcomed all!

Except for the odd rapacious vermin, that is.

"Wait, Abbess, let us try one more thing before we do that."

If the abbess looked any more sad, _she_'_d_ start crying. "Yes?"

"The incident with Treamyst could have been a horrible mistake," Wallace said. "Before we prepare for conflict, perhaps we can make contact with their leader first, and find out that horde's true intentions."

Oh, dear. Treamyst had just stood up from her seat... angrily.

"Wallace, are you suggesting I may have _exaggerated_ my claims?"

"Whoa, there, Myst! Wallace was just making sure that—" Danforth tried to say.

"That this squirrel is telling the truth, eh? I almost get killed, and, _seasons_, you aren't sure of their _intentions_?"

Oh, goodness. Now Treamyst was storming out of the room in a huff. True, the squirrel was a pretty one, but Treamyst had a temper that would probably put paid to a badger's.

She watched Brother Audrin wipe a paw tiredly across his face. She felt like doing that too, but it probably wouldn't look good.

"Treamyst's words do hold truth, everybeast," the Recorder admitted. "Yet, as Wallace said, it is our duty to make completely sure of this group's intentions."

"An' somebeast 'as a chance now," she heard a voice say. She turned. Ah, it was Mudskip. "Somebeast by the name o' 'Grimtooth' wants ta talk ta somebeast."

* * *

Wallace cursed—yes, something Vivian would definitely _not_ approve off if he was heard—and looked down at a huge black-furred stoat who was carrying a very wicked-looking battleaxe.

This did not look very good. Even from atop the battlements, he didn't feel completely safe. That "Grimtooth" looked positively bad-tempered. Even the fact that it was just past midday didn't bring one ounce of comfort.

To say the least.

"My name is Wallace. Who are you?" he called down.

Hellgates, somehow, the stoat was looking even angrier. "My name is Grimtooth, you upstart mouse. Do you have the ability to make binding decisions?

Somehow, this was going very badly. "My Abbess has given me the power to make binding decisions, yes."

He watched Grimtooth sneer. "Then hear my terms, you undersized rat. You will immediately throw down your arms and unbar your gates. You will relinquish the magical sword and all treasure within. Then, you will all submit to me as your slaves."

He blinked. Did this... _stoat_... really think he could throw this in their faces? What an utter...

"Here are _my_ terms, _Grimtooth_." He made sure the name came out like a curse. "You and your beasts will leave Redwall and will leave the Mossflower woods. You will get nothing from us, scum."

Now Grimtooth looked enraged. "You have signed the death order of all the beasts residing within your walls!" Grimtooth screamed.

Then the large stoat faded back into the woods.

And now he felt a bit sick. Had he _really_ just murdered everyone in the abbey?

* * *

This would be an utter farce.

Tanth was sure there was no more than threescore beasts to man the walls. They wouldn't be able to stop Grimtooth.

There _had_ to be someway to dissuade Grimtooth, even now. Perhaps if Grimtooth was told that a siege would be far too troublesome... yes, that might work.

He approached the tent of Grimtooth. Strange thing, really. Grimtooth usually didn't retire to the tent until nightfa—

There was a shriek of pain.

What?

He rushed the tent. Hellgates, the stupid guards were looking, well, stupid. Which meant they weren't going to do anything. If Grimtooth had been—

And then he saw something fly out of the tent.

Again.

Veredia hit the ground, but the female was up with a skillful roll. Seasons, this was new...

And then he heard rustling cloth, and a naked Grimtooth stormed out of the tent.

And... Seasons! The chieftain had a ragged bite right on the inside edge of the right thigh. Veredia...?

"I have tired of you, _ferret_!" he watched Grimtooth roar. "Now it is time for you to _die_!"

Oh, no. What in seasons could he do? He wouldn't bar Grimtooth from taking the female's life... but he couldn't watch Veredia die. He shifted his gaze back to the female. The—former—slave was looking downright defiant. What could he do if—

"Tanth!"

What in...

"Take that _filth_ outside of the camp and _execute_ her!"

Dark Forest, no! Not this!

He whirled to look at Grimtooth. Damnation, he was sure he had an imploring look on his face. But who cared? There was no way Veredia was going to be executed by... by...

"Sir, please..." he begged. Oh, that voice issuing from his mouth sounded desperate.

Suddenly, Grimtooth had stepped into his face "_Tanth_, I remember you telling me _something_." Now Grimtooth's upper lip was curled up in contempt. "_Something_ about no matter how much you don't like an order, you will _damned carry it out_. I have given you an order."

There was no escape... except...

"But, sir, why... why me?"

"Because," Grimtooth whispered in what was easily the most malicious tone ever, "I know by how you look at that slave that you _want_ her. This will be the test... Senior Officer. Kill her."

Impossible...

"Yes... yes, sir. I will fulfill your wishes."

Seasons, that look of horror on Veredia was sure to break something inside...

But he had to move... or Grimtooth might...

He stalked towards the—still naked—ferret fem and yanked her to her footpaws. He locked a paw onto Veredia's upper arm... tightly. There was no way Veredia was going to escape.

He yanked the slave along, towards the perimeter of the camp.

"Anybeast who follows me will be executed... by myself personally!" he snarled loudly.

He dragged Veredia along, and he knew well enough that no beast would disturb him while he...

No.

He came to his tent and shoved Veredia inside.

"Kneel!" he spat, pushing the fem onto the blankets where he slept.

Veredia looked numb, but she did kneel.

"Tanth..." he heard her whisper brokenly. Hellgates... any more of that voice and he'd go insane. "Please..."

Somehow, even being tossed forcefully out of the tent by a murderous Grimtooth had not even provoked a fearful look from the fem... but now, it looked as if Veredia was doing everything _not_ to cry.

He looked down at the nearly-sobbing fem.

"Veredia, I have never, ever disobeyed Grimtooth."

He watched Veredia close her eyes and look at the floor. The fem was going to make this easy.

Or not.

"Until now..."

If Veredia's head had snapped up any faster, she would have probably broken her own neck.

"Tanth...?"

He knelt down and looked at those green eyes. "Veredia... can you..."

But a finger pressing his lips was a sign to stop, no?

"Shh, Tanth. Don't ask me to forgive you. There's nothing to forgive."

Suddenly, Veredia became blurry. No, that was wrong... Veredia wasn't blurry... the tears just made it look so. He was such a pathetic beast...

"Veredia, you... you have to leave," he croaked, and he let his paw wipe away those damned tears. "I have weapons around my tent, and you should take whatever you can use. I'll dig up some more clothing."

He turned, opened up a chest and—hmm... would those fit Veredia?

He looked behind. Seasons, Veredia was so beautiful...

But...

The fem had taken up some... strange. Veredia was holding a medium-sized recurved bow, a quiver of thirty blue-fletched arrows, and... a spear?

"Veredia, that'll slow you down. Perhaps a dagger?"

Hmm... Veredia was giving a knowing smile now. What could that mean?

Strange... now Veredia was picking up a spare hatchet from another chest. Was the fem taking a whole armory with—

With some swift strokes, Veredia cut two sections of shaft. The two rods were about one and a half feet in length. He knew he was cocking an eyebrow now, but yes, this was the right time for it. Two sticks? Was that all?

Then Veredia picked up those rods and twirled them expertly.

Well, almost. Most likely the... the abuse at Grimtooth's paws had slowed those paws. In the end, it didn't matter. Veredia looked as if she could affect some damage with those... sticks? Rods? Batons?

And... damnation, the staring had to stop! He shook his head and withdrew the chosen clothes from the trunk.

He had some dark brown well-kept trousers from when he was young. They'd probably be a bit snug, but Veredia wasn't large to begin with.

He didn't have any extra tunics that would fit, but he did have a sort of hooded, sleeveless robe that might suffice. It was moderately heavy, a dark green, and a very satisfactory garment for a beast who needed to move swiftly. Since it reached down to about Veredia's knees, it could make a makeshift blanket.

This was the best he could give.

He watched Veredia hurriedly slip the garments on. Then the fem slipped the quiver expertly over her shoulder and strapped it to her back. The twin batons went into the waist of the trousers. A pack of food was strapped around Veredia's waist, under the cloak.

And then Veredia looked like she was ready to go. But, then, something needed to be said.

"Veredia, before you go."

"Yes?"

"When you leave, don't..." Hellgates, this was almost _too_ painful to say. "Don't... wait for me. Go your own way. Find somebeast who deserves you."

Veredia frowned deeply. "Tanth, what do you mean?"

Seasons, was the fem making this harder on him deliberately? Damnation! "Veredia... somebeast like me doesn't deserve somebeast like _you_. The more I think about it, the more _foolish_ my reasoning for staying with Grimtooth seems.

"But I _cannot_ abandon my journey now. I must do everything possible before all is said and done. I cannot leave.

"And you deserve a beast who isn't chained to idiocy like I am."

Dark Forest, that was so damned hard to say...

And then he felt a paw on his cheek.

"Tanth, never _ever_ say that about yourself. I respect you for this decision, and I find it noble, not foolish. If you are so dedicated to something you don't even _like_, what will you be like towards something you love?"

What to say to that? If...

Fortunately, he didn't have to say anything, because Veredia's lips covered his own.

"I will wait for you, Tanth. Something tells me there is more to this siege than meets the eye. Just... think. About when enough is enough. Keep well."

Veredia smiled...

...and was gone.

* * *

Seasons, only a day had passed, and already Grimtooth was making his bid for Redwall.

"They have ladders," Winopal heard Danforth the hare say, somewhat superfluously.

Those were very big ladders Grimtooth's horde had built. Those things would easily top the abbey's walls. In addition, the beasts holding them looked incredibly mean.

And to stop that, she had thirty other otters and about a score of young adult abbeybeasts. Somehow, fifty beasts did not seem enough... strange feeling...

"Thank you fer pointing out th' obvious, Danforth," she said dryly.

"Eh? Oh, always glad to be of service, marm."

Goodness, Danforth just had a way of evoking a grin.

Grins were in short supply now.

And—

"Here they come!" she heard somebeast call out.

* * *

"At least we know they aren't simple rubes, sir," Tanth said to Grimtooth.

"Yes, that is most apparent, Tanth," he heard the chieftain reply. "Hmm, it is most fortunate that band of foxes decided to join us."

Oh, yes indeed. A score of foxes had been obviously been attracted to this horde, and they'd joined. Just more blood for battles.

Under the cover of some archers, the five siege ladders had been sent forward. And, despite that, the twenty foxes and thirty hordebeasts that had manned the ladders had been beaten off with heavy causalities. But, true, it had been close. One ladder had actually made it up, and hordebeasts had clambered up it like mad ants.

Unfortunately, that bold mouse that had spoken to Grimtooth yesterday had intercepted the ladder, along with a sandy-furred hare and a mousemaid of some sort. The otters up on the battlements had returned fire—quite effectively, in fact—at the archers with slings, and the attempt was a clear failure.

But why wasn't Grimtooth looking as angry as he knew the stoat should be?

"Well then, sir, what will we do? It is not to late to withdraw."

Grimtooth looked at him with a strange smile. "Now, why would I want to do that? This was only a probe, after all. I'll just let them stew for a day or two... by then those bumpkins _should_ know what I am planning. Oh, yes, they'll know."

What did _that_ mean?

Something strange was going on... And it was sure to be bad, as well.


	15. Chapter 12: New Friends

**_PRIDE OF KAVAZARA_**

By

Gregory P. Wong

* * *

**Chapter Twelve: New Friends**

* * *

Oh, sure, "Tred do _this_, Tred do _that_, Tred go_ jump_ off a cliff."

Oh, fark.

Tred grunted and pulled his cloak—much like that nifty camoflauge the Wraith's had, but one-sided only—tighter around his body and kept his mechobow steady as he stalked forward.

Sheez, not only a forward scout position, but it was solo, and his arse still hurt from that ugly bird's back. Damn, how did those bloody High Temps get used to that jouncing? What? Buns of steel?"

Well, he'd been delivered to just outside Mossflower Woods—what kind of name was that?—after a few hours of hard riding—good thing those feathery pincushions could damned well run. Now, in the wee hours of morning, he was goin' a-hunting for threats.

Praetor Slydant had decided that somebeast needed to scout out ahead—alone—and yours truly was the lucky beasty to do it. Damn. And he didn't even have a damned wraithcomm, either. He had to report all this stuff in person.

But, it was a good decision, showing that Slydant wasn't a dumbarse. A single scout could move more quickly than a group could, and, by that same principle, get the heck out of trouble if it came up. And, though it was a Bad Thought To Think Of, one unlucky bastard buying it was a whole lot less expensive than a whole group of unlucky bastards buying it. And if some Dervaga sleepers—or, Hellgates forbid, Defiled Ones—decided to jump him, his arse was grass. Whoopee.

Well, he was one of _the_ best Pathfinders, so this would be a farking cinch.

He slunk forward, making sure he blended in with the undergrowth. Damn, he'd have a field day devising ambushes in this tree-covered deathtrap.

Whoa! Flash of yellow where it shouldn't belong. Danger!

He crouched and saw a group of yellow-clad, mangy looking beasts walking perpendicular to him. Well, not quite. The way they were going, they might see him sooner or later.

Damn, that group was only five yards away. How the _heck_ had he missed it?

Ugh, everybeast had a bad day.

Okay, time to gather intel. The group was walking in a relatively organized fashion, which meant this wasn't some random bandit group. Looked like a part of some big-shot horde or something. Had to be, since that yellow looked like some type of uniform-color.

Well, if he was lucky—

"Wot the... Wot's that?" he heard a beast cry.

Well, scratch the luck. The gig was up. Time to move.

And then he saw a spear slam into the tree behind him.

Oooh-kay, a nice, peaceful retreat was out of the question. Damn.

He rose, sighted a weasel's face in his sights, and jerked the trigger. The mechbow _twanged_, and Target Number One was dead. And, goody, now it was a target-rich environment. Meaning he was farking surrounded.

He pumped the slide and whirled, planting another bolt into a rat's throat. Pump again, and another rat gurgled and fell. Pump, stoat dead. Pump, fox dead. And—

Spiderspit! He dropped his mechbow as a beast that was _way_ too close tried to stick him with a sword. Bastard. He slid his hunting knife from the sheath at his waist, sidestepped, and slashed the throat of the rat from one end to the next. Score.

"Capture him! He nearly took Mudtail's head clean off!"

Well, he was no Wraith, but he was sure as Hellgates no slouch with a knife.

He sank back into the underbrush. Good thing this stuff was thick, eh?

_Rustle_.

Ah-hah!

He leaped out of the brush, and, goody, there was a ferret with a saber.

Said ferret dropped said saber after he stabbed it in the right kidney.

And another one bites the dust...

"There he is!"

Oh, fleacrap. Dummies would never learn, would they? Farking little—

_Bonk_.

And then something... pain in his head.

And then nothing.

* * *

Ooh... that was gonna leave a mark.

Tred opened his eyes.

Okay, what was up. He'd been hit in the back of the head... sure, that sounded right. And now his arms were tied to some pole jutting from the ground. At least he was sitting down. Bleh, classic SNAFU.

In front was an ugly—damn, those were big warts!—dim-looking weasel and a smarter looking—ooh, big accomplishment!—incredibly fat fox. Looked like guards, bad ones too, but appearances could deceive. Rule number one of Tred's Laws of Drunk'N'Stupid Tavern Brawls. No, wait, that was number two. Number one was "Always keep something hard close at paw."

Hmm... he heard more breathing.

Righto, on his right was a... oh, hot _damn_.

A really cute mouse, asleep.

Weird looking mouse, though. Long legs, nice and fit. Small, compact build. Really nice sand-colored fur. A long tail with this cute little tuft at the end. Black, form-fitting clothing of some sort that covered everything from the ankles up except the arms and head. And a face that... hmm... wasn't quite "beautiful," but definitely cute and attractive.

Hmm...

"Hey, yew!"

What now? "Yeah?"

It was Tubby talking. "Yew up and killed a bunch of our beasts. Nows, our boss, Grimtooth, wants ta know who yew are an' wot yew want before he kills yew."

Oh, come on.

"Sure. Go tell your 'Grimtooth' that he can a fat long one. And you can zip it too, Tubby."

Tubby knelt, and yep, the fox looked incredibly pissed. Perfect.

"Hey, I coulds kill yew right—"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I get the picture. How about you get the heck out of my face before I take your knife and buttfark you with it?"

Meh, now the knife was out. "Yew liddle—"

"Yeah, I know I'm 'liddle'. But, hey everybeast must be little to you. How many months pregnant are you?"

"Wot..?"

Heh, this was fun. "Ah, maybe you didn't hear me. Never mind. How about this? You put away that knife, and I'll promise not to R-Y-N-O."

"Wot does—"

"It means 'rip you a new one.' As in a new orifice."

Now Tubby looked downright confused.

"'Orifice...?'"

"Yep, as in another hole in your body. I'd give you a new arsehole, since you look like you needed something extra to get rid of all the crud floating around your stomach. Want it?"

"No, yew listen ta—"

"Nah, you listen to me, chief. Shut up and go on an air-only diet for a decade or two. Could help the girth a bit."

"Hey, mebbe yew should stop talkin' ta the rat," he heard weasel suggest. Wow! The thing really could talk!

"Hey, sounds like a plan. But I don't think it's gonna work. The hungry bastard probably wants to eat me."

And now Pebble-face the wart-covered weasel was laughing. And yes, it was a farking a_huh ahuh ahuh_ laugh that only stupid beasts in jokes made. Well, not just jokes, since this weasel was alive... but this was ridiculous

"Whoa, there, you can _shut_ _up_ now. See, Pebble-face, the way I see it, if I was as _ugly_ as you were, I'd try to make up for it with some type of personality. But, you know, I've met farking _trees_ that were more interesting than your arse, so it looks like you're piss out of luck, buddy."

Now, in addition to looking really stupid, the weasel looked mad. That was easy. Pebble-face waved a club at him.

He let his face light up with joy. "Oh, make my day! C'mon, me and you, right now. Even tied up and stuff I know I could kick your arse."

Pebble-face suddenly looked scared. He watched the weasel whisper something into the other guard's ear. He grinned when the two guards walked and sat about thirty feet away.

What a bunch of losers. He felt like terminating them—with extraordinarily extreme prejudice—just for being such a drain on the air everybeast breathed. Seriously now, how FUBAR was this?

"You are very clever with words," he heard a voice say. Ah, it came from the right... the mouse. Kind of a nice voice. A bit of an accent somewhere, but a very feminine voice. "What is your name?

"The name's Tred, mousey. And thanks, it takes skills to slap insults together like that. How about you? What's your name?"

"My name is Keruki." Pause. "Is it the customary here to refer to females as 'mousey?'"

Uh... "Hey, Keruki. Well, not really. It's more of my custom, honey." Pause. Hey, wait a second... "You're not from around here, are you? Most fems would be either smiling or slapping me for calling them 'honey.'"

"Keruki" gave a little smile. "Ah, that is most interesting. For your question, no I am not of this continent. I immigrated here from the eastern islands with my family."

Ah-hah! _That_ was the accent. Okay, okay, Captain Blindsight's wasn't as noticeable, but it was there.

Well, time for small talk, followed by little approaches. Who knew, maybe if he and the mousey could get away, he might just have a new femmyfriend.

Wow, he was tied up in a hostile camp, and he was thinking about _that_? Damn, he _so_ needed to get laid. Fleacrap, this beast was probably too young for him anyway.

"Hey, that's neat. So, tell me, mousey, are all the fems from those islands as hot as you are?"

He watched Keruki frown. "The females back east suffer from no overheating, and neither do I."

Oops, foreigner, remember? "My bad. When I say 'hot' I meant 'beautiful.'"

Damn, a little too bold there. Keruki was now reddening. "You honor me, Tred. Thank you."

Wait... score!

Waitasecond. He was here tied up in who-knew-where, and he was talking up some strange mouse from somewhere? Sheesh, he'd better get down to business.

"Uh, no problem. Hey, Keruki, if you don't mind my asking, what type of mouse are you? I've never seen your type before."

He noticed Keruki's blush was already fading, replaced with a nice smile. "I am no mouse, Tred. I am a kangaroo rat."

Ooh-kay... a rat. Small, for sure, but then again... "I know what a rat is, obviously, but what's a kangaroo?"

"I am not sure. My family was itself an emigrant from islands south of my birthplace. From what my grandparents told me before they passed, kangaroos are large beasts that can leap incredible distances. From what I have been told, kangaroos have long legs, like my kind."

Long legs... yeah... Very long, very nice legs. Mmm...

Yech... mind _out of there_!

"Okay." Damn, he _had_ to ask this question. "Can I still call you mousey?"

"It is allowable. In fact, I find it a bit comforting."

Cool. Back to intelligence-gathering.

"Have you seen how many there are?" He gestured to the milling hordebeasts.

"Some. I have not seen much, but I can estimate at least tenscore beasts are in this horde."

Okay, that was good info. "How about their... skills? The ones I bumped off seemed to be pretty bad warriors."

"I will have to agree; they do seem to lack skill."

But that left a question...

"Now, er, how'd they get you."

He watched the kangaroo rat's face darken. "Have you ever had a day where nothing seems to go as it should?"

"_Tell_ me about it. I'm having one today."

"Was that first another of your expressions?"

Ugh. "Yeah."

The mousey nodded. "Several days ago, my parents passed away from old age, and my training is incomplete. I took what possessions I had and moved up away from the coast.

"In short, my current emotional state and deprivation of my parents drained away my energy, and I was an easy target."

"Whoa, wait up. 'Training?' 'Energy?'"

"Yes, Tred. Though you have most likely not heard of us, my parents were training me in the ways of the Unseen. When they passed, the shock knocked my own honed powers out of sync. Though I am not yet fully trained, I should be able to break free in the near future."

Well, that was a surprise. "Well, Keruki, believe it or not, I do know what an Unseen is. I've seen one, actually," he admitted.

The fem's face lit up. "Oh, what fortune! Please, tell me, was this Unseen a black stoat with a blindfold?"

Wow, what a coincidence. "Yep, sure did."

Now Keruki looked positively overjoyed. "Oh, it is Blindsight! Please, you must tell me: do you have any idea where this Unseen is as of now?"

Heh. "Well, mousey, you might not believe this, but..."

* * *

"I just _can_'_t_ believe this," Raezel said to nobeast in particular.

"I totally agree," Tigron replied.

Yep, this was a skee-rewed up situation. She and Tigron had managed to get to Redwall in what just _had_ to be record time, but somebeasts had beat them to it.

Cripes, all that running for nothing. Damn.

She crouched in the undergrowth near the path north of the abbey. Which was currently crawling with beasts in yellow.

Grimtooth's bastards. Oh, life was such a—

"Hey, Raezel, I think it'd be a good idea if we could get into Redwall. As much as I'd like to take Grimtooth's head for a wall decoration, our priority is to get to Redwall, after all."

Heck, _she_ wanted that particular decor... well, somebeast would get it. But, true, Redwall was top on the list. But...

"Uh, sounds good and all, but the execution might be a tad hard. I don't know if those abbeybeasts want to open up those gates anymore. How're we gonna get in there?"

She saw Tigron looked reflective for a moment. Well, for being her lover and all, the sand marten still liked to think in a quite place all the time. It was still weird, but it was kinda... cute.

Sort of. This was really affecting her badly, wasn't it? Sandscratcher turned lover. Geez.

It was a nice feeling.

Okay, okay, time to quit. Duty was at paw.

"I'm not sure. You have any ideas?"

Oh, this was almost too good. "Do my ears deceive me? Tigron Sandstar is asking the hyperactive iceblinker for advice?"

"Eee-zactly," she heard Tigron reply, and she sure as heck saw that wink.

Well, okay, adapt. "We could just try a mad dash for the door and hold off Grimtooth's beasts until somebeast opens the door." Hmm... "After all, we're _Wraiths_, and they're _not_. Piece of cake."

Well, no surprise, Tigron was looking distant again, off in the world-of-battle-plans.

"Hmm..." she heard the other lieutenant say, "that might work. Maybe we'll just bypass the please-open-the-door-pretty-please part and go straight through the gate in Wraith form." Tigron winked.

She cocked an eyebrow. Wow, was Tigron actually being a tad... reckless?

Well, more than one beast was getting affected by this relationship.

But now it was time for action. Oh, heck yeah.

She drew the two parts of Frost from behind her back and snapped them together.

Here they go...

* * *

Goodness, was being in a relationship with Raezel really doing this to him? Damn, it was. He'd just suggested diving through a heavy wooden gate! In Wraith form! While the area was not secured!

And Raezel had actually taken the time to come up with a plan.

Drat. Well, he could learn to live with it. He had to.

Not that it was entirely bad, but...

Argh. Distractions, distractions.

"Go for it. I'll hang back for a few seconds and cause some chaos." He patted his mechbow. "Good?"

"Sounds cool. When we make our break?"

"Now."

He saw Raezel give a wide grin and shoot from cover, dashing towards Redwall's, uh, walls.

Time to stir up some trouble.

He raised his mechbow, sighted a weasel—who looked simply dumb with puzzlement—and sent a bolt into the hordebeast's head.

Pump, and another one, a fox, took it through the right eye. Damn, way off center. Oh, well.

Anyways, that was good enough. The combination of a vixen running straight through them—taking out anybeast stupid enough to stand in her way, of course—and small bolts that seem to be coming from _somewhere_ was playing with their minds.

Good, Raezel was almost there. He watched the vixen flick aside a rat that was in the way. Then Raezel entered wraith form, becoming a fox-shaped thing of red smoke, and dived through the gate.

Time to move.

Raezel went back to normal form as soon as she felt the door behind her. She rolled, letting her dive—plus a little acrobatic twist—put her back on her footpaws.

She looked around.

Uh... okay. A mouse with a large paw-and-a-half sword, another with a saber, a rabbit—hare?—and a older otter were staring at her. They looked like they had been talking. Cripes.

"How did—?" she heard the otter gabble.

But then the male mouse was trying to take her head off.

Uh, really. Her normal fighting stance had her sickle staff in her right paw, with her right side canted away from her opponent. She swept Frost up and blocked the sword with a sickle. The mouse withdrew the sword and tried for a sweep that would take off her legs. She danced over it with a rolling jump.

Well, definitely not as fast as a Wraith, but that mouse sure as Hellgates knew how to use that sword. Damn, if—Yah!

Now the three others were in on it too. Oh, dandy. And they were surrounding her.

Fleacrap.

She quickly unwrapped the blanket and gear from around her shoulders, just in time to...

Stab from a saber... block it. Swipe from a sword... dodge. Thrust from a javelin... whoa, that was close. Another saber slash... ha-ha, parried away.

But, seriously, this wasn't good at all. She was at a _serious_ disadvantage, since killing these beasts would be _bad_. Which meant she had to disarm them... which was no walk in—dodge that spear!—the park, since they were all farking _good_ with—ahh, saber! Block!—their weapons. Sheez, she could have put them all away in a second or two, but here she was, trying to _farking_ disarm them.

If Tigron didn't come soon, like _now_, she saw _sooo_ going to kill him.

* * *

"_Nice of you to show up_," Tigron heard Raezel huff in his mind as he came through the gate. She sounded really mad. Actually, pissed.

"_No_, _I_'_m spitting mad_. _How _'_bout helping me_?"

"Uh, yeah," he said out loud. He dropped the mechbow, drew Dawn, and placed his left paw on Dusk.

He saw the male mouse look at him and say... something that he'd never think a beast from an abbey would say. Not a bad curse, though. Pretty creative. But it was inaccurate. He _did_ know who his father was and—

"Leena, help me take the new one!" the mouse grunted. The mouse charged him, along with a female mouse.

Uh...

He intercepted "Leena's" saber stab and—damn! He arched his back and let the slash from the male pass over his face. He saw the female make a go for his legs. His back still arched backwards, he fell backwards onto his paws, and, with a spring, got back to his footpaws.

Ah, _great_.

He met a slash from the male's sword and parried it in a circle to the left. Ahh... he twisted his body, and the saber from the female slammed into Dusk, on his back. With a whirl to his right he batted the saber down.

Now the male was stabbing at his heart. He angled Dawn towards the ground and blocked, then followed _that_ up by whirling and intercepting the cut from the saber. He lifted his left footpaw to keep it from getting lopped off by the paw-and-a-half sword. Then he had to intercept the saber with Dusk's shaft. He detached his scythe from his carrier and hooked the saber with the blade.

Hah! Opportunity!

He whirled again and levered the saber into the ground. Then he stuck the point of Dawn into the female's face

"Stop, or she dies!" he yelled.

Drat, that sounded callous. But this fight was getting real old, real fast.

The mouse had backed away, and, Hellgates, that beast was damned _shivering_ with fury.

Okay, time for diplomatics. Hoorah.

"If you don't mind putting your weapons up... we're friends."

Leena...

He couldn't defend her... and now the mousemaid was in the paws of a vermin.

Wallace looked behind him. Danforth was also in danger, a sickle at the hare's throat. Who would have expected that vixen's weapon could be split in half?

And now the marten had the _audacity_ to make such a claim?

"Friends, is it?" he growled. "You invade our abbey and threaten her life, and you expect us to _believe_ you?"

"Uh, well, you did attack me first. Self-defense, y'know?" he heard the vixen say from behind him. "And, spiderspit, quit worrying, Wallace. Tigron has as much intention to cut her throat as you would. Which means nil, right?"

How did that vixen know his name? "And you expect me to humor your—"

"Oh, Hellgates... Fine, you win!" the vermin said exasperatedly.

He saw the beast take the sword from Leena's face and sheath it. Then the scythe was brought up, expertly whirled, and placed on the marten's back.

What in the world...?

"See? We don't want to hurt you. Like Raezel just said, it was just self-defense. Okay, sure, diving through your gate wasn't _exactly_ a friendly gesture, but in case you didn't know, you have plenty of unwanted visitors. Weapons up, please?"

He took a closer look at "Tigron." Tall, brown-furred, brown-eyed, clad in strange looking armor, and, though he didn't care to admit it, handsome as vermin went. But, strangely, there was something _different_ about this particular vermin.

"Though I doubt it's wise to take the word of a vermin... I'll agree." Goodness, this had better not be a horrible mistake.

He slid the sword of Martin the Warrior into his back sheath, and looked behind him. Winopal planted her javelin into the ground. The white vixen had already put her weapon away—under the cloak?—and Danfroth was sliding his saber back into its sheath. He noticed Leena was looking _slightly_ disappointed with the decision, but the saber was put away, as well.

"Now it's my turn, vermin. Why are you here?"

The marten scratched his head. "Well... okay, I can say. But if you want the whole story... well, I hope you have an hour or two. Maybe three."

* * *

And that was that. Raezel had let Tigron most of the story-telling, but she did put some helpful comments here and there.

"'Kavazara,' is it?" asked the bank vole, Audrin. "From over the western sea?"

"Yep, sir," she answered before Tigron could peep. "Though we've been settled here for about two hundred seasons. Lord Longspear is the first native-born Bladestone lord."

"I find this is so... mind-boggling!" she heard the abbess—Vivan, right?—exclaim. Fleacrap, the poor mouse looked like she was gonna have a heart attack. But, well, news of Dervaga did tend to do that. And that didn't count Grimtooth and his horde of uglies. Cripes.

"In any case, ma'am, Lord Longspear and Lady Galecut felt that there was dire need. We wouldn't be here if there wasn't." Tigron explained.

The mouse called Wallace gave a loud sigh. "To think, Leena and I only narrowly escaped being attacked by 'Dervaga.' Those beasts are true monsters."

Her turn. "Yeah, they sure are. Of course, that could be because they're not entirely natural... but, if I can so, that was no easy job, to take on five Dervaga sleeper scouts. Those things are tough. Of course, no sweat for Wraiths, but I just hope no Defiled Ones made it through. That could be really _ugly_."

"'Defiled Ones'? I sure don't like the sound of that," she heard the hare say. Danforth Bouncefoot Fangleton Townes... what the fark name was that? Well, whatever. Sure wasn't a slouch with the saber. "What're those things?"

"Bigger, stronger Dervaga. In other words, a total nightmare. A bunch of them could give a Wraith trouble."

"Ugh," spat Wallace. "I still have difficulty believing _how_ these _things_ exist."

"Yeah," she muttered. "But trust me, those things are bad news, hard to believe it or not."

"True, true," sighed Wallace. Then she saw the mouse take a deep breath. "Despite the dangers of these 'Dervaga', our current concern is Grimtooth and his horde. We must drive them away."

"Yeah, we know," she heard Tigron say tiredly, "we're going to need some plans, huh?"

"Oh, definitely," she said.

* * *

Dervaga... cursed beasts.

What every Kavazaran knew about the Dervaga had come from decades of fighting them.

Item one: Beasts _did_ possess souls. When a beast died, that soul was either transported to the fields and pastures—so it was assumed, at any rate—of Dark Forest. Others were given up to the eternal fire and pain of Hellgates.

Item two: Somehow, some beast had discovered a way to _escape_ the "domain" of Hellgates.

Item three: This individual used the very damned creatures wandering Hellgates as soldiers.

The Dervaga were the evil-filled souls of beasts sentenced to Hellgates. It was hypothesized that when a new Dervaga was "harvested" it was given a corrupted form of its old body. The "new" body was easily a quarter larger than the original.

Utterly subservient to the master's wishes, the Dervaga were stronger, faster, and more resilient to damage than average beasts. Though they were somewhat lacking in intelligence, it did not take much brains to hack apart an enemy.

The "regular" Dervaga were beasts who had known and done naught but evil while they were living. However, Dervaga Defiled Ones were another story entirely.

Defiled Ones were beasts who had once been good beasts, but had chosen evil before their death. As the saying goes, the worst thing is when a good thing goes bad.

Defiled Ones were half again as big as their former selves, and actually in possession of intelligence. They were the elite troops of the Dervaga Lord, and in large enough groups could successfully challenge and defeat a fully trained Kavazaran Wraith.

And, despite the perceptions of Mossflower beasts, Dervaga were not entirely "vermin." Just as many evil mice fought mindlessly along with rats and ferrets.

And, of course, the Dervaga Lord even had a paw in directly crafting some beasts for special purposes. Several of these special beasts were marching with a horde numbering over one hundred thousand.

Towards one final confrontation with Kavazara's Bladestone Castle.


	16. Chapter 13: Confrontation

**_PRIDE OF KAVAZARA_**

By

Gregory P. Wong

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen: Confrontation**

* * *

"Have the Pathfinders finished the preparations?" Tritan Longspear asked the war marshal. 

"Aye," he heard the wildcat reply.

He kept himself from swallowing. That would be bad.

Only a day ago Bladestone had been a flurry of activity, where trebuchets, ballistae, and heliopoli were being mounted on the battlements. The Templar division that manned Bladestone was in fully battle dress, while High Templars had readied their dustrunners. Bladestone was ready for battle.

And, that ETAD thing of Rid's had _better_ be ready. This would be a battle with an inevitable outcome.

But it would be ugly for the victor. Very ugly.

He swept his cloak, camouflage side in, over his shoulders, over his lamed armor. The leather-faced steel—over a fine suit of chain mail—was an extremely strong armor, and flexible, too.

He absentmindedly—or almost, at any rate—fingered the pommel of his Wraith knife. To think... it had come to this.

Well, Hellgates, no surprise. The Dervaga were relentless. Heh... relentless. The stupid monsters. The Dervaga horde—so damn huge!—was far outside trebuchet and longbow range. It was one big mass of black. It would be impossible to—

"Don't be so negative, Tritan," he heard his wife scold.

He turned away from the extraordinarily hideous sight of those monsters and peeked at his wife behind him.

Serai also was clad in Wraith armor. His wife reached a paw outwards, which was holding... ah... his spear. He reached out and took his weapon, Shadowrend, from his wife.

Yes, this weapon was a comfort... but it was nigh impossible to think about anything else.

"Think of me, then," he heard Serai say simply.

Yes... think of Serai... his wife who had always been there. But what would happen.

Ah, damnation. His vision was cloudy now. With tears...

He felt a smaller form press up against his side.

"Serai..." he murmured."

"Hush... we have no need to talk."

No, they didn't. Right now was the perfect time to savor this.

"Sir!" he heard a voice call out. "Some type of rider has broken past the ranks of the Dervaga." He turned around. Ah, yes, Major Talson Slasheyes, commander of the 126th Archery Battalion. The ferret was lowering a pair of binoculars. "Er, Grand Marshal, I don't know what to make of it, but the beast in the saddle of the... thing... is holding a scrap of white cloth.

White cloth. But that was only used for...

Oh, spiderspit, this was ridiculous.

But sadly, he had to humor this damned rider. Oh, wonderful.

"Open the gates. Let's talk to this... envoy."

* * *

Riding atop a beast called a _krisjar_, the Underlord Hermaset sneered as he caught sight of the Bladestone leaders. The Dervaga's grip on his black spear, Virulence, tightened. 

The Underlord was no ordinary Dervaga. The beast was not some shambling thing that ought to be residing in Hellgates.

It was a direct creation of the Dervaga Lord. The shell that contained the malicious spirit was, too, a creation. Even the ugly, spike-studded armor and black cloak had had the Dervaga Lord directly supervising its creation.

The body was in the form of a jackal, a beast that strongly resembled a large, long-eared fox. And, like most Dervaga, this body was large. Jet black, Hermaset stood nearly seven feet tall, laced with sinuous muscle that spoke of agile power.

Hermaset was chosen to be the speaker to Tritan and Serai. The Overlords of the Dervaga horde, the dire wolf-form Anukronis and sabercat-form Nepskya, had decreed it.

Unfortunately, Hermaset did not take kindly to beasts he considered to be inferior, fit for nothing but consumption. Yet, the jackal-form would have admitted that the orders given by the Overlords _did_ have an aspect of satisfaction to them.

Meanwhile, Anukronis and Nepskya, atop their own _krisjar_, oversaw Hermaset. Anukronis snarled at the very thought of coming _that_ close to fodder for reasons other than consumption. Nepskya shared the same sentiments.

Among the horde were other beasts who were also special, even more so than the Defiled Ones. Eighteen former foes of Mossflower and Redwall stood among the infantry beasts, while two Dervaga crows managed the thousand or so Dervaga birds. Each of those twenty corrupted beasts held nothing but contempt for the Bladestone fools.

But...

The sabercat-form and dire wolf-form allowed menacing grins to contort their faces as they saw the Underlord reach the five figures from Bladestone.

* * *

That was an extraordinarily _hideous_ beast. 

Tritan shuddered a bit. The _thing_ that the long-eared beast—was it a jackal? There were stories about such beasts from when Kavazara still existed in the west—was mounted was ugly as heck.

The creature was the color of urine, and it smelled as bad as that, too. The creature's body was pod-shaped, almost like an egg, and it had not discernable neck. At the ventral, rear region of the creature, two backwards-jointed legs jutted down, ending in hooves. The front of the creature held two beady red eyes and a wicked-looking amber beak. And, ugh, on either side of the beak were two five-foot limbs that ended in sharp stingers that seemed to _drip_ something. The rear of the creature ended in a long, muscular tail that terminated in a—oh, fleacrap—large pincer.

But that, really, was nothing compared to the beast atop it.

Damn... it was impossible to penetrate the mind. Oh, well. There were things in there that probably should stay there.

He clutched Shadowrend tighter.

"I am Underlord Hermaset," the jackal said in a voice that held barely-contained rage. "Who among this rabble has authority to speak with me?" growled the jackal.

Oh, hostility, was it?

"I am Tritan Longspear, Lord of Kavazara and Grand Marshal of Bladestone Castle... and remember that you are here only under our allowance. Don't try us."

It looked impossible, but the perpetual sneer on that face grew uglier. "Save your pathetic attempts at authority for somebeast else, you pitiable fool."

He heard Serai _and_ Rid snarl. Well, couldn't have his wife and friend screaming at the Dervaga. He held up a paw to keep them from saying anything. And, as a bonus, kept his two Praetorian bodyguards from becoming twitchy. But, Hellgates, this was doing nothing. Better get this over with. Besides, he'd rather not violate protocol—even with a _farking_ Dervaga—and feed the Dervaga its own spear. Damn.

"Say your piece and leave this place, you Dervaga scum," he spat. "I'm getting sick of your petty insults."

He watched the jackal roar in fury. "Here is my piece, rat! We have no need for your anemic soldiers, not even as potential harvest. We merely want to give you the undeserved honor of being devoured by the horde. Be wise and tell your soldiers to stand down. It will go much, much faster that way."

That was it? That was the best it could do? Hah!

"I'm sorry, but that's not happening, _Hermaset_." Yes, the deliberate omission of the Dervaga's title had the desired effect. "My soldiers and I will fight to the last breath, you piece of Hellgates-born crap."

Hmm? Strangely, this "Underlord" didn't snarl at that. The look was actually... surprised? What in the world?

"I would think, even if you are possession of a flawed and inferior intellect, that even _you_ would see that there is no chance to change the outcome. Why make this so difficult?"

Was this _thing _stupid? "And I'd think," he growled at the jackal, "that one with such an enlightened mind would know that I would never even consider such a thing."

And now the jackal looked enraged again. "Do not presume to judge our superior minds, meat. The very fact that you think you can do _anything_ to change the outcome just emphasizes your stupidity. You cannot win."

Well, things were going downhill now. "Maybe, maybe not. But you'll have to forgive us for slamming your damned horde.

"Fools." Now the Underlord's growl was saturated with contempt and malice. "My master and commanders have no interest in forgiving you for anything. They simply require that you die."


	17. Chapter 14: To Hold the Line

**_PRIDE OF KAVAZARA_**

By

Gregory P. Wong

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen: To Hold The Line**

* * *

It was only Serai's respect for her husband that kept her from taking Mist and Rain and giving the jackal something new to eat. 

Then she saw Shadowrend, gripped in the Bladestone Lord's left paw, dip forward so that the blade was pointing at the Underlord.

"I've had enough of you," she heard her husband whisper. "You know our answer already, scum. Leave. _Now_."

"I thought as such," she heard the jackal grunt. The creature Hermaset was on backed away a few steps

Something was wrong. The body language of Hermaset was completely off what it should be. Plus that tone of voice...

Oh, _Hellgates_.

"I find it a pity—almost—that my commanders will not have this privilege," muttered Hermaset.

Tritan!

And then the Dervaga's mount charged straight at her husband.

"_TRITAN_!" she screamed.

Needless. Tritan was not a Wraith for nothing.

Her husband went into wraith form and allowed the mount's pincer-tail to pass through. Then she saw Tritan resume normal form and drive Shadowrend into the monster's head.

Of course, whatever it was, it couldn't take a spear into its brain and live. The mount shuddered, spurted yellow blood, and—spiderspit!—stumbled around for a bit before it remembered to die.

Damn!

Hermaset had leaped clear from the dying creature. Now a very angry jackal Dervaga was leveling a very ugly black spear at her husband.

Hellgates, this Underlord was just _intent_ dying, wasn't he? Better get those daggers out so—

"_Serai_, _no_," she heard her husband mindspeak to her. "_Let me handle this_."

Like heck she would! _She_ was supposed to be his guardian and—

"_Serai_, _please_. _I will be fine_," Tritan mindspoke.

Oh... Sometime her husband made her job hard. But... Tritan didn't break promises. And that was steel, hot burning steel, in that voice.

"_Be careful_," she mindspoke.

"Praetorians, stand down," she barked at the two NCOs.

She looked back at Mister Underlord.

"You desire doom, rat. It will be my pleasure to administer your death with Virulence," rasped the jackal. Ah, that black spear had a name... a pleasant one, too.

And then she saw the Dervaga drive forward, the tip of the black spear aimed at Tritan's chest.

Her husband blocked the spear with Shadowrend. Tritan knocked the other's spear back and stepped away.

Hmm...The Dervaga was holding Virulence as if it were a staff. Damn. Tritan would have to worry about strikes from the blade _and_ blows from the butt. The jackal's spear looked pretty heavy too, and that would probably force an advantage against her husband's lighter Shadowrend.

But her husband wielded a weapon far faster than this Virulence. The spearwork of her husband heavily depended on speed and flexibility. Plus, he husband held the eight-foot spear near the rear, at about waist level, maximizing reach when stabbing or swinging.

Oh, Tritan would win. Probably. Most likely. No, no, stop those thoughts. _Definitely_.

Her husband attacked, stabbing at Hermaset's throat. The jackal snarled, sidestepped, and aimed a knock at Tritan's head with the butt. She saw her husband dance out of the way, and with that momentum, aim a sweeping swing at the Dervaga's leg.

Spiderspit. The jackal had lifted the footpaw just in time.

Oh, no. Hermaset barreled forward and slammed into Tritan. Her husband, while tall, was probably not nearly as heavy as that Dervaga jackal. She saw her auburn-furred husband stumble backwards. Luckily, Tritan remained on his footpaws, but only because he had used Shadowrend as a stabilizing pole by thrusting it into the ground.

She watched Hermaset charge forward again, seeing an advantage and... hah! Her husband had used the planted spear as a bludgeon, pulling back and releasing it so the jackal could get an excellent taste of steel-encased yew.

And then her husband used the shaft like a vaulter and slammed his footpaws into the jackal's chest.

Tritan yanked Shadowrend from the ground and went back into his ready stance. And the Dervaga would probably explode if it got angrier.

She watched the jackal as it thrust with the butt of Virulence. Tritan slapped aside the blow and followed the block with an overhead swing. Damn, Hermaset blocked that one... but then her husband withdrew and aimed a whirling blow to the Underlord's _right_, which was only narrowly blocked.

And then Tritan weaved through the jackal's guard and connected a solid stab to Hermaset's left shoulder. Hah!

The jackal backed away, clutching the wound, and her husband rushed forward. Tritan slashed at Hermaset's head, but the Dervaga dodged and slammed the haft of the black spear into her husband's face. Damn, Tritan was stumbling backwards from _that_. Hellgates, the slam had left a welt on Tritan's right cheek. Spiderspit, a beast who wasn't a Wraith would have had a head torn off...

And then her husband recovered and flew at Hermaset.

Holy spiderspit, this was insane! Hermaset was using the heavy Virulence to power-block—in other words, slam back in the opposite direction—her husband's assault. Of course, Tritan was weaving and dancing Shadowrend against the Underlord's spear, looking for an opening to connect a smash, slash, or stab. Fleacrap, this was so fast that the slightly springy Shadowrend was bouncing everywhere.

And the Underlord was looking more and more furious.

With a start, she saw the jackal shriek and shift its grip on the spear so that it resembled her husband's grip and—oh, Hellgates.

Now Virulence was moving at blurring speeds, and Shadowrend was meeting it with sharp _thwackthwakthwacks_ that seemed to be joined together.

The two spears were stabbing forward and being countered and parried.

And it looked like four extra spears and a dozen more arms had been added to the battle. It was that fast! Impossible. Tritan couldn't keep this up—

And then it was done. Her husband staggered back.

Oh, no... Tritan was bleeding from multiple cuts to the face, and the armor's leather facing was scored all over the place. Even some links in the mail had been torn, and, damnation, there was blood oozing. She rushed over and held Tritan. Spiderspit, her husband was wavering on his footpaws.

"You fool... this means... nothing..." she heard a voice grind out.

She turned and saw... Hellgates!

The jackal's brutal, spiked armor was covered in black-streaming holes. Virulence lay on the ground.

Yes! Her husband's last flurry had finished the Underlord.

"It means everything," she heard her husband whisper. "Go back to Hellgates and _burn_, you monster."

And then she watched Tritan... _hurl_ Shadowrend straight into the Dervaga's face.

There was a blood curdling scream, and black _light_ seemed to by streaming out of the wounds in the body, and then...

What in Hellgates?

The jackal was torn apart. The body simply _ripped_ _apart_ in a welter of black blood. From the inside, too, like there was something doing its damnedest to get out.

What now? A shadow vaguely in the form of a jackal hurtled out of the ruined body...

...until it imploded and disappeared.

Silence.

"Humph. That concludes _that_ travesty of a diplomatic approach. Rid, Serai, I think it's time to get ready for battle," she heard her husband mutter.

* * *

The dire wolf-form Anukronis and sabercat-form Nepskya grimaced as they detected the destruction of the Underlord. 

The sabercat-form grunted, voicing her displeasure. Her weapon, a double-headed spear named Lifestealer, was quivering, showing her anger.

Anukronis, on the other paw, was controlling his disappointment better. The longsword Deathculler remained sheathed and untouched.

Both Dervaga Overlords found it highly perturbing that an Underlord had been bested by mere fodder. But, they both knew that it would be no matter. They detected that the rat who had defeated the jackal-form had suffered injuries. Yes, they were not serious, but it showed Anukronis and Nepskya that a fully-fledged Overlord could defeat the fool.

But neither of them wished to do so. Culling meat was a task for lesser soldiers, not Overlords.

Anukronis looked over the twenty resurrected beasts. _Yes_, he thought, _this will be no problem_.

Tsarmina, Verdauga, Fortunata, Badrang, Tramun Clogg, Skalrag, Ferragho, Dethbrush, Klitch, Swartt Sixclaw, Zigu, Gabool the Wild, Flogga, Greypatch, Urgan Nagru, Silvamord, Bluebane, Krakulat, and Bonebeak. Every single one of these resurrected individuals held a specific hatred for Kavazara and Redwall.

"All aerial units... advance," hissed Nepskya. The one thousand corrupted crows under Krakulat and Bonebeak immediately took wing and began to head for the castle, one mile off.

The dire wolf-form allowed his consort a few moments. Then, "All ground units, advance at full speed to four hundred yards beyond the walls."

The Dervaga Overlords had no true reason for speaking. A mere thought would have sufficed. Perhaps even Dervaga had a desire to hear their own voice.

Whatever the case, one thousand black forms blotted the sky while one and a quarter hundred thousand Dervaga on footpaw advanced towards the castle.

* * *

"Damn, that's a _lot_ of crows," Corporal Pik muttered as he lowered the binoculars. 

"Yeah, yeah, I see," said his buddy, PFC Welors. "Now quit gawking and help me get this heli' set up. The major'll have our arse if we can't give them crows something to chew on.

Welors, ever the dutiful engineering beast. Heh. Well, this time it was _really_ for survival, not kissing some officer's arse. That heliopolis had to be up and good to go.

"Righto. Let's get crackin'."

* * *

Tritan grimaced as he saw the sheer number of crows winging towards Bladestone. He lowered his binoculars. This would be damned hard. 

But those plans he, Serai, Rid, and the other high command had ironed out would be a surprise...

To the Dervaga, of course.

Time to start.

"Send out a call to Pinionmaster Steelwing. Time to start this."

Exactly four hundred-eighteen were led by the raven Steelwing as the Dervaga birds came on.

The pinionmaster allowed a flutter of fear to touch her heart, but no more than that. The female squelched the feeling and steeled herself.

The two flocks of fliers were rapidly approaching. Steelwing gave a loud warcall that was echoed by her warriors.

And then the two groups met.

Immediately the ground below the battling flocks became littered with the crumpled bodies of Phoenix Eyrie ravens and Dervaga crows. In the sky, it was not necessary to deal lethal damage to an opponent. A fall caused by a damage-numbed wing or yanked tail feathers killed a bird just as easily as a talon to the brain.

Back at Bladestone, the Grand Marshal Tritan Longspear peered through a pair of binoculars. The rat lord knew that this was enough. Longspear nodded and sent a psychic message to the Wraithorb. The large concentration of wraithstone broadcasted the message to Steelwing and her officers.

Half a mile north of Bladestone's walls, Pinionmaster Steelwing received Longspear's message.

"Pinionmaster! Fall back to the castle. Suck them in!" the raven female heard Longspear, transmitted through the wraithcomm. Steelwing nodded absentmindedly.

_And not a moment too soon_, thought the Pinionmaster.

While the ravens of Phoenix Eyrie were facing better odds, relatively speaking, an aerial assault was much more dependent on numbers and individual strength, something the Dervaga had plenty of. Whereas Templars could beat off superior numbers because of their superior training and discipline, birds could not form phalanxes in the air.

"Fall back!" the raven Steelwing cried, and immediately her warriors wheeled around and sped back towards the castle, echoing the call.

The Pinionmaster knew speed was of the essence. The female didn't want her warriors caught in what was intended for the Dervaga.

* * *

The Dervaga were closing in. Major Slasheyes grinned as he stared at the Dervaga... _wall_... of birds. That was a lot of damned birds. 

But there were a damned lot of archers. _His_ battalion, the 126th, held about 600 beasts... and there were _two_ more archery battalions at other points on the battlements. Good thing Bladestone had its battlements built _wide_.

This was perfect. The 126th was smack dab in the front of Bladestone's walls, the point that jutted out like a sword tip. Yes, his archers were packed as tightly as maneuverability was permitted, and that could prove a consummate disaster

Hmm... it looked like the Dervaga were nearly one hundred yards from the walls.

In other words, point-blank range for Templar hollowed-steel longbows. Hoorah.

Good thing he had tactical jurisdiction for his battalion _and_ the forward bolt-spitting heliopoli. Things were going to get ugly. For the crows, that was. Time to put down the binoculars and get ready for action.

"Archers! Ready arrows! Heliopoli, be prepared to interdict the enemy!"

* * *

Serai breathed a sigh of relief as a hail of arrows—each broad-headed and a yard long—slam into the Dervaga crows. 

Yes... birds were particularly susceptible to arrows. The tougher ground-based Dervaga could eat at least three arrows before they moved back to Hellgates.

But a crow was good for only one or two. Very economical, no?

And then she saw the heliopoli release the six-foot bolts. The heliopoli were mounted on the walls, on ingeniously-crafted ball joints that allowed a single beast to aim and fire. A team of five engineers could prep, reload, and fire a heavy heliopolis bolt in no more than fifteen seconds. And those massive arrows killed _anything_, even a Defiled One, with one blow.

Dark Forest, three volleys were launched by the 126th before the other battalions joined in.

And, by then, it was over.

Hmm... she looked through the binoculars.

About... about one hundred crows _somehow_ got though that storm of arrows. Oh, well, perfection was impossible. Almost (!) destroying the crow swarm was good enough.

Oh yes, it sure was.

And now came the hard part. Hellgates.

The Overlord Anukronis snarled. _The fools_, thought the dire wolf-form, _this will only make their deaths more drawn out_.

Only ninety-four crows made it out of that holocaust of arrows, and the leaders, Bonebeak and Krakulat, had been shot down in the second volley.

The other Overlord also shared the same sentiments. She had been overseeing the crows, and the sabercat-form considered this a personal affront. But Nepskya knew it was of no consequence in the end. The Kavazarans would pay.

At the same time Anukronis allowed the rage to take him. However, the fury was tempered by a crafty mind.

"Clogg, Skalrag, Flogga, Dethbrush, make a frontal assault. Swartt, Bluebane, Greypatch, assault from the east. Nightshade, Badrang, Fortunata... the west. Stay at the rear of your hordes until I give the word. The rest of you, stay back for support."

The hordes of the Dervaga rolled forward like a hideous tide.

* * *

Tritan took a deep breath as he saw the _sea_ of Dervaga roll forward. 

He felt Serai clutch his paw. Hmm... right now, Serai was a wife seeking comfort and security in her husband. Well, that went both ways. _He_ wasn't a Grand Marshal right now, but a husband seeking reassurance and strength from his wife.

But that couldn't last forever. This place needed a Grand Marshal right now.

That Hermaset had done a job on him, but nothing that some bandages couldn't fix. But, really, those injuries didn't mean a speck of spit to what was coming now.

The Dervaga were coming in an enveloping maneuver. Yes, they looked like they wanted Bladestone surrounded from the north, east, and west. Those scum had the numbers to pull that off, too. Well, that was no surprise.

The hammer was coming down. Time to see if he could mangle that hammer.

* * *

The defense of Bladestone was highly organized and layered. As the seventy thousand Dervaga—which simply dwarfed the nearly twenty thousand Kavazarans—came on, the first layer came into play. 

The Pathfinders had, during the cover of night, set up a multitude of surprises for the oncoming enemy.

Many a Dervaga howled and fell as it felt its footpaw penetrated by something wickedly sharp.

Three hundred yards out from the walls in a broad semicircle ending at the east and west was a field sown with caltrops. These were simple little weapons, basically two pieces of sharpened wire folded together so that no matter how the caltrop fell, it presented a blade upwards.

The simple trap weapons even claimed some lives as Dervaga tripped and impaled themselves upon some of the many thousands of caltrops. The wickedly sharp devices were as unrelenting as death itself.

As the tide of Dervaga floundered for a moment, beasts tripping over yowling others, another surprise popped up.

Yes, Pathfinders had spread the caltrops, and, to the misfortune of the Dervaga, the Pathfinders were still there. A full company of Pathfinders broke cover, seeming to materialize from the ground and tall grass, and began to send death into the ranks of the corrupted beasts. The mechbows of the Pathfinders tore through the stumbling, crippled Dervaga.

All told, in that half-minute, the Pathfinders managed to eliminate five times their number without a single casualty. However, the captain of the contingent had been ordered specifically to stay no more than thirty seconds in the open. The CO gave an order, and the company began to withdraw hastily towards the main northern gate of Bladestone, no open.

By then the Dervaga were through the caltrop field, and were barreling forwards, towards the walls.

And that was when the third layer of defense made itself known.

An order was given on the wall, and large, spherical objects arced gracefully into the air.

When those objects fell, the Dervaga horde erupted in fire. The trebuchets had been loaded with pottery filled with flaming oil.

The Dervaga could not have cared less. Their single-minded brainlessness kept them moving towards their target.

Then the same heliopoli that had smashed the crows sent up their own gifts, six-foot bolts that went through the tough Dervaga skin as if it were not more than tissue paper. The ballistae also spoke, sending out small boulders with devilish precision into the Dervaga ranks.

Another trebuchet volley barreled into the sky, and the Dervaga were nearing 250 yards.

* * *

Slasheyes again grinned. This was perfect on so many levels. 

Well, not quite perfect, since there was too damned _many_ of those things, but it was as close enough to perfection this side of Dark Forest.

Now, time to get that wraithcomm ready, because it was time.

"Battalion! Nock arrows and draw!"

* * *

The massed trebuchets and heliopoli had caused hundreds of deaths among the Dervaga, and many, many more were slowed by grievous injuries. 

It was the latter that really mattered, in any case.

"_LOOSE_!" The ferret major Talson Slasheyes bellowed.

Six hundred arrows shot skywards...

...and descended from their apogees, slamming like a mighty hammer into the ranks of the Dervaga. And those were followed by those of the other two battalions.

From atop the castle walls, the longbows had a range of something approaching 250 yards. A fully armed Dervaga could cross that distance in less than half a minute.

Considering, of course, that aforementioned Dervaga was not hindered by the dying beasts in front of it.

An experienced longbowbeast could loose twelve arrows in a minute.

In the forty-five odd seconds or so that kept the Dervaga from the walls the eighteen hundred longbowbeasts of Bladestone let loose over sixteen _thousand_ arrows into the horde.

Fully eight thousand of the resilient Dervaga were dead before the horde reached the walls, and hundreds more wounded by the broad arrowheads. Bodies littered the ground or were trampled to black paste.

However, now that the Dervaga were at the walls, it was much harder for the longbows to come into play, since only the frontmost ranks could rain arrows on the attackers. Even then, the archers were beginning to take losses. The Dervagas' prodigious strength allowed them to hurl their falchions forty feet up to hit the archers. The archers needed somebeast to clear the threat away before the awesome volleys could resume.

Bladestone was enveloped on three sides, the northern point taking the brunt of the enemy.

Now it was time for another layer.

* * *

High Templar Archon Shreel Fastfang heard her wraithcomm splutter for a second. Ah, the sign somebeast was trying to make contact. 

"Fastfang here," she said into the bracelet.

"Time to move, Praetor," she heard the other voice say. Ah, that had been Arbiter Galecut.

Finally, it was time for action.

"Acknowledged," she replied "Out."

Time to tap the wraithcomm... and get it... to amber channel. There.

"All legions!" she called into the channel. "Time to move. Cold steel!"

She heard a rumble of "cold steel!" reverberate through the area.

The ball was now starting, helpfully hosted by the Bladestone High Templars.

"Hiyah!" she cried, and spurred her dustrunner forward. She sneaked a peek behind her.

Yep, all the Crimson Guards were there. Since she had her three praetors and their legions behind her.

Which meant, rather nicely, that three hundred dustrunner cavalry was running up to meet the Dervaga.

* * *

The three legions of High Templars rushed down the hills that dotted the east. 

The three hundred armored riders did their best to keep quiet until the Dervaga could see them. Then they let sound the wooden cavalry horns along with the warcrys of "_COLD_ _STEEEEEEL_" and "_KAVAZARAAAA_!"

The birds of the Crimson Guards slammed into, and through, the bewildered Dervaga. The corrupted beasts, including the commanders, had not expected such a bold strike.

But it had happened.

The eight-foot corsecas of the high Templars were used as lances, to project in front of the mount and "break through" the packed bodies. Those that kept their paws on the polearms used them to stab or hack down enemies. Those that had a corseca lodged or rendered otherwise irretrievable relinquished their grip—experienced riders never kept a grip on a weapon that threatened speed or stability—and drew paw-and-a-half swords to cut down the tightly packed Dervaga.

Archon Fastfang knew the cavalry was making good time. Surrounded like this, the moment the cavalry was bogged down would result in a catastrophe.

But that was not happening. Cavalry was used primarily a shock force, and the force that had slammed into the Dervaga rear was quite shocking. Even the dustrunners themselves were showered with black blood as razor-sharp beaks flashed out to kill Dervaga. The corrupted beasts were not stopping this charge

The High Templar cavalry punched through the Dervaga, inflicting heavy damage to those crowded around the walls. Dozens of the riders lost their lives, but each death was repaid with dozens of the enemy's. The east, then the north, then the west gates were cleared.

And then the gates opened.

* * *

"Close ranks!" PFC Dev heard Staff Sergeant Wread Stafftail bellow. He shifted his tower shield and readjusted the grip on his assegai. "Prepare to receive the enemy!" 

Gah, even now that old bastard of a sergeant was gonna play it by the book. Well, that book had better be a good one.

'Cause some Dervaga needed some whacking.

And, fark, there were a sure lot of them. Plus, he was smack in the front ranks, so this was a _tad_ intimidating. Well, so was he, dammit. He was a farking Templar, and Templars would grease the ground with the Dervaga guts.

Oh, yes, time for some Dervaga-slaying action!

* * *

From the main gates at the east, west, and north came solid blocks of Templar line units. 

The armored Templars thrust their shields in front of them, and the front ranks presented their assegai through special notches cut into the shields for that very purpose.

However, behind the first two ranks of soldiers were Templars with different weaponry.

The needle-sharp, eighteen-foot pikes stabbed through gaps in the shield wall, relentlessly impaling Dervaga upon their deadly lengths. Several layers of the long spears bristled like the spines of a hedgehog, creating a deadly, impenetrable wall.

However, so great was the crush of Dervaga that gaps _did_ appear in the pike defense as bodies weighed down the spears. Thus, it was up to the front line soldiers like Private First Class Dev to preserve the integrity of the phalanx.

The assegai were highly economical implements for killing. The foot and a half blade was leaf-shaped, giving the spearhead the ability to open large wounds _and_ allowing the wielder to quickly withdraw with only low possibilities of snagging. The shaft was a stout four-foot oak pole, and it was weighted for balance.

Even the Templar hold on the weapon was highly efficient. In general, a Templar held the short spear in a standard forward-pointing grip a forearm-length plus a paw from the butt. This gave excellent leverage for slashing and good reach for stabs.

Each Dervaga that managed to slam into the shield wall was cut down remorselessly.

However, as effective as the training and equipment of the line units was, losses still began to mount. However, each Templar death was only won at the cost of four Dervaga ones.

As the Dervaga were distracted, the longbow units on the battlements were free to fire with impunity.

The sky turned black with whistling death.

* * *

As the arrows began to fly again, the Overlords sneered. The two Dervaga masters were surprised at the effectiveness of the impudent meat, of course, but the Overlords decided that enough was enough. 

They both, simultaneously, decided that the superior numbers and strength of the Dervaga now needed to be exploited.

"Klitch, advance," the sabercat-form hissed.

* * *

"They're bringing another unit up," muttered Pik as he peered through the heliopolis' telescopic scope. 

"Mommy," he heard Welors moan.

* * *

Seven thousand fresh Dervaga moved forwards under Klitch. Mixed in with the normal Dervaga for camouflage were four hundred armored Defiled Ones The heavy armor of the advanced Dervaga was proof against all but the most perfectly aimed broad-head arrows. 

The larger Dervaga hammered aside lesser beasts in their thirst for blood. The frighteningly powerful and horrendously swift Defiled Ones pushed through the crush of smaller Dervaga in less than five minutes.

Then the Defiled Ones roared their fury and launched themselves at the pikes

Several dozen Dervaga Defiled Ones spurted black liquids and died on the end of pikes... but their mass kept the pikes from being withdrawn quickly. The rest of the fallens' ilk rammed into the shield wall.

Many of the front rank Templars to the north were bowled over and hacked down as the heavier Dervaga bludgeoned their way past tower shields.

The line in the north was compromised.

* * *

"Damn, that was earlier than I expected," Serai heard her husband mutter. "I think, Serai, Rid, that it's time." 

Oh, yes it was.

"Archon Kadrad, you have a hole to plug," she said, directing her voice at the Wraithorb."

"Ahnd Colonel Fourknife, yew got sum Dervaga tae kill," she heard Rid growl.

"Well, since we're on this vein," she head Tritan grunt, "I think, Steelwing, that your services are needed again."

* * *

"Drop pikes!" came the order, and the Templars relinquished the grip on the long spears and slid out their assegai. Shields raised... 

...and then the Templars turned to the side, displaying their profile to the enemy.

And, through the spaces, came charging one hundred-fifty High Templars. Corsecas lashed out, drawing Defiled One blood. When the corseca was flung like a spear, or broken, or imbedded in and enemy, paw-and-a-half swords rasped out of sheaths and cut down Dervaga.

Meanwhile, fifteen Wraiths entered wraith forms and passed through the Templars, reconstituting in the midst of the Defiled Ones. While enough Defiled Ones could wear down and kill a Wraith, this many Bladestone psionic warriors were enough to keep watch on each other's back.

The Pathfinders were not to be neglected, either. Two platoons—sixty beasts—of Pathfinders charged out and scythed down Dervaga with mechbow fire.

Lastly, to complete the reaction sortie, the remaining two hundred of Pinionmaster Steelwing's warriors—two hundred had died repelling the initial swarm and hunting down the remnants—rose from the battlements, an assegai clutched in each foot. The ravens dropped like stones—or like arrows, as their plummet was controlled and deliberate—and sent spears into the ranks of the Dervaga. Then the ravens began strafe the unarmored Dervaga normals with beak and talon.

And, still, the arrows continued to fall from the sky. This time, however, they were pile-head arrows, needle-sharp affairs meant to defeat heavy armor.

Defiles Ones weren't the average Dervaga, however, and it took quite a few arrows to put one down.

However, the Defiled Ones were distracted, which gave the Templars time to reform the line. Lesser Dervaga charged again, and, since the pikes had been dropped, the fighting was close-range and brutal.

Templars were trained to use their shields as offensive weapons as well as defensive barriers. A standard Templar offensive maneuver involved ramming the shield's metal boss into an opponent's face, following that with an assegai stab to the abdomen.

The line was well enough formed that the High Templar reaction forces could begin to withdraw.

The fighting was vicious.

* * *

Anukronis grinned in a completely evil manner. 

"It is time they exposed their reaction forces and Wraiths."

Nepskya agreed. The sabercat-form bared her large fangs.

"And now it is time to break their backs," the female Overlord said.

"Yes, indeed it is," said the other Overlord. Then, to the remaining resurrected commanders: "Verdauga, Silvamord, drive down the north. Ferragho, Zigu, Urgan, detach eight hundred of your beasts to drag down their troublesome cavalry. After that is down, drive your forces into the south wall."

"And Tsarmina," growled Nepskya, "give those archers our special gift."

The Dervaga under Verdauga and Silvamord, including two thousand Defiled Ones, rolled forward. Behind them, Tsarmina and her "special gifts" also advanced.

Ten thirty-foot badgers and wolverines.

* * *

What the fark? 

Pik took his eye from the heliopolis' scope. The damn thing was smudged. It had to be. Those overgrown badgers and wolverines couldn't be tossing...

Oh, no.

His eyes grew wide. It couldn't be. Nononono.

A ten-foot boulder was coming right at him.

Oh, spider—

* * *

"What was _that_?" Tritan heard his wife yelp. 

That was actually a good question. Where had that damned _boulder_ come from?

The binoculars would be able to see the problem. Hmm, it looked like—

Oh, Hellgates.

"Ah ne'er kne Dervaga grew tha' big..." he heard Rid grunt.

* * *

"Damn!" hissed Archon Fastfang. At least twenty-four hundred Dervaga were coming right at the cavalry force of three hundred. 

This could be ug-_lee_.

No, it _would_ be ugly.

Two choices... Take out those boulder-hurling monstrosities the Dervaga dragged up, and get swamped by Dervaga. Or let those boulders wreck the archers and siege engines and "get out of the dodge."

Hmm... to Hellgates with that. Two choices were always too few, after all. Time for Number Three.

"Legions! Charge down the northern force. Our only chance is to give the Pathfinders and Templars enough time to get their act together. Move!"

* * *

Less than three hundred dustrunner-riding High Templars charged down the rear of the northernmost Dervaga formation. It was a brave charge, even perhaps a bit reckless. 

But it was working.

Even with his superior speed and reactions, the resurrected commander Flogga couldn't dodge the thrown corseca of the archon commander. The three blades were entirely buried in his chest, and the Dervaga rat collapsed.

The ripple of shock cascaded through the Dervaga, even reaching the Defiled Ones.

This momentary reprieve allowed the Wraiths to charge past the enemy, towards the boulder-launching beasts.

Unfortunately, it was not going to work.

As soon as the Wraiths had left the cover of the Templars and Pathfinders, the Defiled Ones hidden among the lesser Dervaga closed in on the Wraiths from all sides. Now isolated, the Wraiths were simply overwhelmed. Fifteen powerful Wraith officers died, at the cost of several hundred Defiled One "lives."

The same maneuver was repeated on the dustrunner cavalry, which had been bogged down—the worst fear of any cavalry officer. Not one single High Templar, Archon Shreel Fastfang included, made it out alive.

To complete the turn of events, Pinionmaster Steelwing and her forces were taken under fire from thrown falchions. The combined might of heavy cleaver-like weapons brought ruin upon the ravens. Knowing the end was near, Steelwing and her warriors dove straight into the Dervaga mob and attacked with beak and talon.

However, now the Defiled Ones were no longer under the cover of their lesser brethren. The Templar archers and siege engines exacted bloody vengeance on the killers.

However, the five hundred that died were a pittance compared to the fifteen hundred that still marched forward. Not to mention the over forty thousand Dervaga that still surrounded Bladestone.

* * *

"Well done, brave soldiers," Serai murmured quietly as she watched the carnage envelop the Wraiths and High Templars. None of them would be coming back again... 

And it was now getting worse. It was all fine and good that the monstrous beasts had run out of things to throw, but now those things were closing on the walls.

The archery units on the battlements, dammit, were decimated, and so were the siege units. The High Templars weren't doing too well, Dark Forest. Half of them had died already, and the unarmored Pathfinders were taking a thrashing.

And Tritan was considering recalling the units back into the castle.

"Tritan, no. We can't do that."

"I know, know," she heard her husband say softly. "But so many of them are dying... just to make the Dervaga bite!"

"And that's what we need to give Slydant and the others. That's all we have to give..."

* * *

The Templar lines were slowly being pushed back and disintegrated under the inexorable crush of Dervaga. The walls had held like a dam before a flood, and the flood had paid the price for opposing the dam.

Yet, after enough time, with enough water, dams could crack and break.

Slowly, the Templars had no choice but to fall back into the castle.

The Dervaga rushed forward.


	18. Chapter 15: Last Defiance

**_PRIDE OF KAVAZARA_**

by

Gregory P. Wong

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen: Last Defiance**

* * *

By midafternoon, several hours after the beginning of the battle, the favor was slowly swinging in the Dervaga Lord's favor.

Eight thirty-foot tall beasts—two had been killed by well-aimed trebuchet fire—lumbered towards the closed gates.

"All Praetorians, and High Templars take positions," Serai said into her wraithcomm.

Behind her, Rid was also belting out orders to the Templar and Wraith remnants.

It was good of Rid to be so—

Oh, Dark Forest...

The badgers and wolverines were back, and coming at the gates. Damnation! All the archery battalions were busy, the Crimson Guards were busy fortifying positions, and so were the Templars and Wraiths.

Time for a personal touch.

"Serai, Rid, no!" she heard her husband cry out. Must've read her mind.

And it looked like Rid had some tricks left, too.

"Stay here, Tritan. You're still not up to full strength. Don't worry, I'll be back."

"Aye, but Ah won'," she heard Rid whisper.

* * *

The lead wolverine staggered towards the wall and began battering away at it. Chains wrapped around paws made fine smashing implements for the humongous Dervaga beast. Those large monsters were very strong, and the gate would fall, followed by sections of wall.

Of course, Serai Galecut, Arbiter, wife of Tritan Longspear, would be having none of it.

The female rat leaped over the wall and landed on the first beast's face. It roared in amazement, but that was silenced when the arbiter dug her long daggers into its brain. As the body toppled, the rat lady dropped to he ground and just avoided getting squashed by a large footpaw. Galecut grinned and clambered up the leg.

The siege beasts fell into chaos. They were too stupid to know that it would have been intelligent to assault the wall and have two others hunt down the little nuisance.

Galecut wormed her way through the thick fur of the badger—it was much like a shaggy mountainside that bucked and heaved—and leaped clear as a paw the size of her body slammed into the chest of the beast she was on. The badger gave a weak growl and fell over, winded.

Galecut danced through fur, and nailed Mist into one of the monstrosity's upper body. Galecut allowed her footpaws to break contact with the fur and she allowed her body weight to take her downwards, slicing the body open as she went. Entrails as big as the rat lady splashed out. By chance, the dying Dervaga convulsed, sending wicked claws into another Dervaga's face.

Galecut leaped clear onto yet another beast.

The arbiter raced over the back of the wolverine she was on and scaled the beast's shoulder. Galecut spied some chains wrapped around the thick neck. _Ah_, Galecut mused, _perfect_.

She dodged another swat, and launched herself at a dangling section of chain. The rat lady grinned again.

Then, planting her footpaws in the chest of the wolverine, Galecut used her powerful legs to jump _down_, towards the ground.

The neck chains yanked the wolverine forward, and it caved its head in on the wall of Bladestone, leaking black fluids and tissues.

Galecut saw the paw coming and smiled again. The female rat clung to the paw as it missed and was withdrawn.

She scaled its body, avoiding blows by clambering onto its back. She hammered Rain multiple times into the base of the Dervaga's neck, and the rat lady felt a shudder run through the immense body. She jumped from the dying Dervaga and scrambled up the walls of Bladestone, back towards her husband.

* * *

Meanwhile, the northern gate—where the bulk of the forces were concentrated—was beginning to splinter.

However, like Serai Galecut with the wall-hammering badgers, War Marshal Rid Razorfang would have none of it. Like stupid ants, the Dervaga would pour forward while resistance remained strong. He would give them some _resistance_.

But even for one as large and powerful as Razorfang, it was pushing limits.

The war marshal leaped down forty feet from the battlements, trusting in his own incredible strength, and landed in the midst of the Dervaga hacking away at the gate.

By the time the dust settled, a seemingly squat form of a heavily armored wildcat could be seen. Razorfang's greatsword, Rocksunder, shone through the grit. A dozen unmoving bodies lay around the officer.

In a moment the Dervaga poured forward.

And died.

"This gate is cloosed!" roared the wildcat in his accented speech. "Noone shall pass!"

And none did pass. Scores of bodies were flung aside like garbage as the massive Rocksunder clove away entire groups of Dervaga.

And then the assault ceased. The Dervaga drew back.

And a beast stepped forward. The massive form was like that of a wildcat, a wildcat who knew only cruelty while living. It was Verdauga of the Thousand Eyes.

"Do not bar my path. You _will_ grant me passage," the Dervaga sneered.

The war marshal just responded by spitting on the ground.

Two wildcats squared off.

Then, in a flash, light flashed and clangs sounded as the two hammered at each other. Both held large, ponderous-looking swords that moved with the speed of an unstoppable avalanche. The duel lasted for ten minutes, a lifetime on the battlefield.

Finally, it was over. A wildcat stumbled to his knees, blood oozing from a gaping wound in the chest. He looked up at his opponent, knew he had failed, and died. A massive sword teetered and met the ground with a thump. Blood dripped to the ground and moistened it.

This blood, however, was black.

A bloody Rid Razorfang stared at the body of Verdauga. Then he roared and charged into the midst of the Dervaga, shattering the formation like a hammer does pottery.

Dervaga scattered like leaves before a hurricane.

It was long, so long, but even Razorfang's ponderous strength began to give out. Blood trickled and streamed from dozens of wounds. The wildcat sank to his knees, yet he still lashed out with Rocksunder, bisecting Dervaga bodies as if they were no more than jelly.

But, to the war marshal, it was getting darker and darker. Things seemed to be moving slower. Even Rocksunder felt heavier than before...

And thus Rid Razorfang, War Marshal of Bladestone, wounded in dozens of places, surrounded by the slain bodies of literally hundreds of foes, did die, barring the gate to his lord, friend, and commander to his last gasp.

* * *

All things have an end. Heh, well, time to go out with a bang.

Archon Keltaa gripped her glaive in her left paw. She and three others, all suma pili, waited outside the council chamber of the Bladestone lord.

Well, that last hour had been something out of a literary work. Endless tides of Dervaga chipping away at the Templars. Epic individual battles. Well...

Now there were only isolated pockets of soldiers still alive in Bladestone. She was proud of her Praetorians, though. They had held the corridors and chambers of the castle at the cost of many enemy lives. No, dammit, she was proud of _everybeast_. The Templars and High Templars had fortified key zones for as long as they could, and Pathfinders had harried the Dervaga right and left with deadly hide-and-seek hunts.

And now it was _her_ turn.

Oh, was that rustling coming this way?

A mob of Dervaga came around the corner. Time for one last hoorah.

She and her beasts just waited silently. Praetorians to the last, eh?

The Dervaga were just a few feet away from twenty feet... and...

Smoothly, she drew her paw from under her cloak and flung the knife in its grasp at the closest Dervaga. And, yes, those were three others that also found targets.

Four Dervaga gurgled and collapsed.

But, of course, by then she and her three NCOs were charging.

She shifted her grip into the correct one, with the right paw on he upper half, the left near the butt.

She pivoted, bringing her right leg forward and sending an upward slash into the Dervaga's face, cutting it in two. She spun, blocked with the haft, and slammed the butt into the throat of the attacker. There was this really satisfying crunchy noise from that.

She stepped back and whirled to the right, neatly removing the head of another Dervaga. Uh-oh. She ducked under a falchion swing—that was close—and opened up the corrupted weasel from waist to chest.

Another one came on, and she rammed the blade into its chest.

Oh, spiderspit. It was locking its paws around the shaft. Damn.

Time to push the glaive away, and...

Ah, not again!

She dodged the forehand swing and ducked under the backhand follow through. Damn, not enough room to unsheathe the praemitar from her back... oh, well.

She grabbed the wrist right beneath the falchion handle and moved to the beast's right side, hammering a fist into its stomach. She grunted and levered the falchion behind the Dervaga.

There were some snapping noises, of course, since this was an unnatural position for the arm. Then again, the whole farking beast was unnatural.

Then she rammed the falchion, the Dervaga still blindly gripping it, into the corrupted beast's back. She yanked back and kicked its legs out from under it.

The other Praetorians looked like they were doing fine. She yanked her praemitar from her back sheath and jumped in. She could take it. Not forever, to be sure, but enough time to give—

And then she saw a new Dervaga come around the corner. It looked like it was—had been?—a weasel. Blue eyes, too.

And—

And her three NCOs died.

Oh, Hellgates, it had to be one of those resurrected beasts from that Mossflower place. Dammit, she didn't have a chance against—

* * *

Serai jerked her head up as the noise died outside. That could only mean...

Keltaa had died a good death. But it was still death, spiderspit. And now there was _thunk thunk thunk_ that _had_ to be metal smacking into wood.

She looked at her husband. Tritan was calmly holding Shadowrend, staring at the door—which sounded like it was going to give out any minute.

Damn.

She put her paws lightly on Mist and Rain. If they wanted her husband, it would be over her dead body.

And then the heavy oak door flew open. Well, it had held out for quite some time. Good engineering, anyway.

And then she saw a large Dervaga weasel enter the room. Black, of course, large, and it had these startling beautiful blue eyes.

And it had quite a few knives all over the place, too. Hellgates.

She watched the Dervaga breathe for a few seconds. The other beasts behind the weasel were motionless, obviously waiting for something.

"Humph. It looks like I must destroy two of you. No consequence," she heard the weasel mutter.

"Oh, please, try me," she snapped. She wasn't sure how, but Mist and Rain seemed to _fly_ into her paws. Looked like the adrenaline and psionic forces were kicking in. "Before you even think of _challenging_ my husband, you go through me first."

"Oh, really now," the weasel said contemptuously. "I am Ferragho the Assassin, master of the Corpsemakers. And I have been to Hellgates and back and I have already surpassed you, meat."

Hmm... sounded like this one was one of those resurrected warriors. Goodness. It sounded like one, to be sure. What else would be arrogant like that?

"Sure you have. And I bet your master is saying you're nothing but a snot-nosed braggart... one that lies, to boot."

"Ferragho" snarled and rushed her, drawing two wicked-looking knives. Humph. She ducked under the slash and allowed the idiot weasel to stumble past.

Ferragho regained balance and glared at her. Good. Let the weasel get angry.

But this would be hard.

The Dervaga was holding those twin knives in ice-pick grips. Dark Forest, with the height and reach advantage, it would be easy for her to get those things hammered into her shoulders or head. Well...

She relaxed into her fighting position, her weight back on her left leg but with her torso leaning forward. Mist and Rain were held out in front, pointing at the weasel's eyes.

She feinted forward, and she saw Ferragho jump to the right and stab the right-paw knife at her throat. She deflected the blade with her own, and delivered a lighting-fast cut to the outstretched arm.

The corrupted weasel withdraw, growled and tried another stab—this time, with, oh dear, _both_ knives.

Idiot.

She sidestepped the attack and swiped at the weasel's thighs. Dark Forest, this was easy.

The resurrected weasel howled and kicked out. Hah. Easy to dodge. Now to—

Ahh!

"Serai!" she heard her husband cry out from behind her.

"_Stay where you are_!" she mindscreamed at her husband.

Damnation, Ferragho had just landed a solid blow to her right shoulder, probably past the pauldron. Damn, better use that to an advantage...

She pivoted, and slammed her daggers into the imbedded knife—damn, it hurt—and ripped it from the weasel's grasp. She tossed in two slashes to the chest for good measure.

Hellgates, that _hurt_. She yanked out the knife. That was no-no, since the bleeding would mess her up later on... but it was hindering her mobility _now_.

Ferragho had a new knife out. Damnation.

She darted forward, and saw Ferragho slashing to the side, at her throat. She blocked, and slashed down. The weasel blocked that, as well. Damn, Ferragho was learning.

She darted to the side and managed to get a nice cut to the flank with Rain, but Ferragho deflected Mist.

And then she stopped thinking as it got faster and faster.

* * *

Serai! His wife had taken another bad stab already, to the side. The armor had kept it from being fatal... but it was bad.

But his wife had yet to land a heavy blow to that Ferragho. Yes, the weasel was covered in bleeding cuts, but that was it.

His wife could not take this for much longer! If—

And then he saw Ferragho suddenly sink to the ground. The two knives clattered to the stone floor, as well.

"What... how... these are... mere scratches!" the Dervaga croaked.

Yes, it was definitely dying now. Spiderspit! It was a bleeding wreck!

Good riddance, the bastard.

"Some assassin you are," he heard Serai spat angrily. You don't even know the number one rule of one-on-one knife fighting. Idiot, you try to _bleed_ your opponent out, not get your knives stuck in her meat!"

Ferragho grunted something and sank down to ground. Well, that was that.

Now the Dervaga waiting at the door slowly began to make this very unpleasant growl.

He stepped next to his wife.

And she was thinking... oh, Dark Forest, even now. Ever dutiful.

Well, that was one reason why he loved her.

"Tritan, behind me. I—"

"No," he said simply. "We're not going to fight this last battle as a grand marshal and his arbiter guard. We're going to do this as husband and wife. One last battle, eh?"

He saw his wife nod.

Was it a sad nod? Yes, it sure was. Serai didn't have exclusive rights to one either.

He nodded, also. Sadly, also.

"But, I do have one thing to say," he said. Damnation, this grin was not needed right now, but...

"Yes?"

"When we finally do... meet again... I'm going to be able to claim more kills than you when this is all said and done."

He saw his wife's attractive face stretch with a grin.

"Well, I guess you're on."

And then the Dervaga rushed forward.

He and his wife met them.

* * *

A middle-aged weasel sighed and readjusted the moist cloth around her face.

In her paw was a hammer, and on a table in front of her was a flint.

And, all around her, floated the deadly fire-gas.

She was—to Hellgates with that; _had been_—a combat engineer for Bladestone, and she had volunteered to be the one to do this. Her husband was already dead, one of the Templar line soldiers. Her daughter, thank Dark Forest, was one of the many evacuees to make it to the colonies and nomadic tribes that dotted the surroundings. The civilian towns farther to the southwest would be safe after _this_ happened.

Strangely, she was thinking about a favorite childhood story. Odd, no?

The subject was a young weasel female, of course. Whether the story was _originally_ about a young weasel was, frankly, irrelevant.

It went like this:

_It was a summer like any other: food was plentiful, friends were always visiting, and the days were long and warm. The young weasel couldn't ask for more._

_However, on one fateful day, a murderous bandit group happened upon this family. The fem's father and oldest brother were slain trying to buy time for the rest of them to escape. However, the bandits were too many, and would be able to capture or kill them soon._

_The weasel did something very brave. She stopped and stood defiantly in front of the rapacious beasts, unarmed, staring them down as if she had a whole army at her back._

_It was decided then. She knew she would be... used... and discarded. Her family would get away while they had sport with her, but she was doomed to her fate._

_For a moment, the weasel considered being submissive to the robbers, hoping that they might allow her to live. After all, it was not unknown for roving brigands to keep slaves with them._

_However, that thought was fleeting and insubstantial. The young female set her jaw and glared at the leader of the group. And then—_

_Crash_.

No...

Her thoughts were jarred from her story as the single door to the room burst open and several Dervaga burst in. Oh, it was almost time.

For a moment, she thought her story had taken life. A rat, dressed so... so... barbarously and mounting all types of sharp metal tools of death. Fleacrap, it_ had _to be a dreaded bandit leader.

But this bandit wasn't going to be doing anything in the future. Guaranteed.

She knew her time was coming to a close. This long day would give in to a different kind of sleep, so that she would awaken in a joyous place, reunited with her husband.

She looked directly into the leader's eyes, took a deep breath, and took the cloth away.

"And then she spat in his face," she whispered, and struck the flint.

* * *

In a time measured in milliseconds, the sparks from the flint ignited the fire-gas in the room, killing all beasts in the chamber instantly.

In order to keep the combustion going, the reaction needed oxygen. The wax paper glued over the windows to keep the fire-gas in shredded as a vacuum sucked oxygen into the room. For all beasts inside the castle walls, Dervaga and not, it was as if their lungs had collapsed. The massive influx of air compressed the reaction, forcing every single particle of fire-gas to be consumed.

Then, it was momentary pause in the inrush of wind.

The pause itself was nigh imperceptible, for two reasons. One, because it was measured, also, in milliseconds.

The second reason was that the shockwave of force exploded outward from the chamber.

The fiery wall of superheated air and flaming debris hammered into Bladestone's walls, killing all instantly. A moment later, Bladestone exploded outward, rocks the size of small sheds riding upon tornado-force winds. An orange-yellow cloud in the shape of a mushroom rose to touch the sky.

The burning air and boulders slammed into the tightly packed Dervaga, consuming as a cleansing fire consumes rotten leaves. So eager had the leaders of the Dervaga been to engage the Kavazaran forces that the castle had been surrounded on all sides.

Tightly surrounded.

* * *

Two Dervaga overlords picked themselves up from the ground where a wall of invisible force had knocked them off their mounts.

Anukronis and Nepskya looked bleakly at what remained.

Of Bladestone, naught was left but a smoking foundation. Of the Dervaga, only five thousand survived. Tsarmina, Zigu, Urgan Nagru, and Klitch had also survived; the others had all been consumed in the fire-gas' cleansing flame.

The Defiled Ones were, for all intents and purposes, erased. No more than a few dozen made it through.

The sabercat-form scowled. The losses were ridiculous... but the Dervaga could rebuild, the Kavazarans could not. The Overlord thought that it was all done.

The dire wolf-form Overlord thought the same. The losses had been hideous, even by Dervaga standards, but five thousand was more than enough to crush a pathetic _abbey_ manned by simpletons.

With less than five percent of the original force remaining, Anukronis and Nepskya marched south, towards Redwall.

* * *

On a hill two miles away from the site of the explosion, Veetyr Crossback lowered her binoculars. Damn, all those beasts... striking one last blow of defiance.

If Bladestone was to be conquered, all the conquerors would be getting were smoldering pebbles.

Nothing but rubble...

"The castle is gone," she choked. "I count five thousand-plus Dervaga still alive and kicking."

That was quite few still. Redwall was in for an unpleasantly shocking surprise.

But, spiderspit, it had taken the deaths of _all_ of Bladestone to keep the number to _only_ five thousand.

Ah, dammit, the tears again. They had to stop!

And what was scary was that she was _glad_ that she hadn't died. Farking fleacrap, what a disgusting thought. What a coward!

She felt a paw enfold her own. She didn't need to look.

Her husband, Blindsight, squeezed gently.

"I know what pain we are all feeling right now, and perhaps your doubts," she heard her husband say slowly. "Yet, we have one last duty to carry out."

"We sure do," she murmured. Dammit, she had been ordered to do this. She and everybeast else here was as much a coward as War Marshal Razorfang was. "And we're going to carry out our last orders so we can give them some hot Kavazaran vengeance."


	19. Chapter 16: Rendezvous

_**PRIDE OF KAVAZARA**_

By

Gregory P. Wong

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen: Rendezvous**

* * *

"Tred."

But mommy, he didn't want the cookies. His tummy hurt and so did his back.

"Tred, wake up!"

But it was nice and warm. His paws felt all funny, but it was okay. No cookies tonight. For breakfast he would have plenty of cookies. Yay! That would work!

"_Tred_!"

But no cookies...

Gah...

Tred popped an eye opened and remembered that he was farking tied up to a farking pole. And his farking paws were going to farking sleep. Farking again.

Plus, it was dark, cold, and damp. Argh.

"Somebeast, kill me now... _pleeeease_," he moaned.

"Tred, self-destructive thoughts are not recommended now!" he heard the mousey rasp. "I am able to get free."

Whoa! That was a good wake-up call.

"Great. Wait, how?"

"I... am very strong."

"Oh." Okay, time for the Pathfinder part of his mind to kick in. "Now, lessee. We prob'ly can't just up and leave. I don't want all them prickheads chasing our arses all over the damned forest. Hmm..."

"Tred?" Keruki asked.

"S'up?"

"If that another of your strange colloquialisms?"

Er... "Yeah. By 'what's up' I mean 'what's going down'. Oh, wait. 'What's going on.'"

"Ah. I think I see." He heard Keruki clear her throat. "As I was saying, I have an idea. I can free myself, but as you pointed out, _both_ of us leaving would be far too easy to detect. In addition, we are both unarmed. I know where my weapons are kept, and I think I observed the location of yours. If you can keep quiet, I'll return in a minute or two."

"Uh... Sure, you do that. Just don't, er, forget me, mousey."

"I would never even consider it, Tred."

In the moonlight, he saw Keruki flex a bit. He heard a little _pop_.

Yep, one tough mousey.

"Keep well," Keruki said, and disappeared.

One skilled mousey, too.

And one that obviously knew what to do.

Grrrr-reeat. Now, time to sit tight—or be bound painfully tight, whatever—and wait for Keruki to get her tail back here with his weapons.

"Hey, rat."

Oh, fark. That was a sentry and—

He felt a paw wrap around his throat. In the moonlight, he could _just_ make out Tubby.

"Hey, yew," Tubby grunted. Damn, that fox smelled like crap. "I was gonna settle a score an'... Hey! Where'd the—"

Tubby couldn't finish the yell, since he'd lashed out with his legs, scissoring them into Tubby's.

The fat bastard fell with a yelp. Perfect, now the fox would be too angry with him to worry about mousey, for, oh, a minute or two.

That kangaroo rat had better run _fast_.

"Yew really wants ta die, eh?" he heard Tubby growl angrily.

_Shiiink_!

Fleacrap, that sounded like a sword being drawn.

"Whatever you just brought out, why don't you just shove it?" he growled. "Last beast who tried to stick me with a sword had it stuck where the beetle put the peanut. And don't even get me started on spears."

"I know wot I can shove, yew," Tubby grunted.

And then he saw a flicker of movement behind the fatty fox.

Heh.

"Yo, Tubby, ever seen an Unseen?"

"Wot?"

Another flicker, this time in the trees.

"Never mind."

Tubby took a step forward...

...And something farking _blurred_ in front of the fox, too fast to be farking seen clearly!

He watched Tubby give a little _aach_! and slump to the floor, a small stab wound right between the eyes. Nice handiwork.

He heard a shimmering sound, like a bunch of tinkling glass, and suddenly—

"Whoa! Where'd you come from?" he asked Keruki.

"From too many places," he heard the mousey say. Hah! A sense of humor!

Okay-dokey, Keruki applied some cuts to the ropes with some type of weapon—too dark to see clearly—and, ah, freedom. Damn, the tight ropes had made his paws felt like a farking lot of ants were crawling through them. Bleh.

"I believe these are yours," Keruki said, and he felt something touch his chest.

Better paw around and see... ah-hah! Mech-bow, magazines, and hunting knife all in perfect condition. Score!

Well, score for Keruki. But it was all good.

He rolled his shoulders to get some life back into them.

Time to make a break.

* * *

Keruki wasn't sure why she was taken with this Tred.

From the way Tred put words into context and how he acted told her that the male was vulgar, rough, impulsive, ruthless, and downright _unpolished_. And she guessed the male was a bit older than her eighteen seasons. This rat wasn't even handsome. Not homely, no, but nothing special to look at.

But Tred was also courageous, clever, in possession of a sort of kindness, loyal, and very skilled with his weapons.

Strange times, they were.

She quietly folded the chain of her weapon, Nightwhisper, into a manageable loop.

Nightwhisper was one of the more interesting weapons Unseen were said to use. It was a sickle—but its blade was only slightly curved, unlike sickles used on this continent... how fascinating!—and the other end of the eight-inch handle hooked into an eight-foot weighted chain. Nightwhisper was a uniform black color, except for the razor edges of the blade, topside and below.

It was a difficult weapon to master, but she loved challenges.

She also strapped her belt of throwing darts to her waist along with the dart-holding bracelet on her left arm. She had felt she was prepared enough to use the Steel Curtain technique, but...

In any case, stealth was desirable.

Gah! Why in the world was her mind wandering all over like this? Goodness! It was time to concentrate.

"Tred," she whispered."

"Uh-hmm?" she heard the male answer.

"I'll take to the trees. Can you avoid detection to the south?"

Why was Tred giving a little chuckle? "Mousey, I can exfiltrate any farking thing they can toss at me. See ya."

There was a rustle, and Tred was no longer there.

Amazing! The rat was no Unseen, but the male obviously knew what he was doing. Very skillful.

Hmm... Daybreak was perhaps a few hours away. It would be prudent to retreat _now_.

* * *

Fire. Fire touching the sky. Young ones... in danger! Black stoat. Axe.

Red walls.

Shattered castle.

_Monsters_!

_Death_!

Bloodmoon shot up from her bed gasping.

No, no, not again. The thrice-damned dreams were coming again.

Hellsteeth, get back to bed again, quickly, before her mate awoke. Bladefall didn't need to trifle with her silly—

"Bloodmoon," she heard her mate say delicately. "They were just dreams again. I'm here."

She snorted. "And when you _are_ here, I disturb you night after night." Oh, wonderful... this harsh tone and snort would make Bladefall think she was angry with _him_. She lowered her voice. "I'm so sorry for this, Bladefall. I—"

"Stop that... now," her mate interrupted firmly. No, not angrily, but with calm force behind it. "Never blame yourself for this, and don't think I resent you for it. I _love_ you, Bloodmoon, visions be damned."

She felt tears again. Goodness, this always seemed to happen.

She felt familiar arms hug her again.

"Shh... they can't hurt you. Even if they could, I wouldn't let them..."

She let the tears flow freely. How _dare_ she even doubt Bladefall? The male loved her so hard... and she could still _doubt_!? Hellsteeth...

But what the dreams had shown. So horrible and clear this time! When they were _this_ clear, it was highly possible that the events depicted had already happened or were happening.

Something terrible had happened... and something even more terrible was approaching...

* * *

"I really wish I knew what Grimtooth was doing... it would make life so much easier," Tigron mused.

"I disagree. It would only make life a tiny bit easier," he heard Wallace say with a sniff.

He snorted. Wallace definitely wasn't a Kavazaran, but he was likable enough. The fact that the mouse had the excellent fighting technique, if not physical abilities, of a Wraith was a huge plus, too.

He grinned and straightened his cloak as the early morning breeze picked up on the battlements. Well, the Redwall inhabitants had, ah, taken his and Raezel's intrusion rather well, so it was not too much of a problem. No need to wear armor all the time, so he was in his comfortable clothes. No worries, you know? Sure, some of the older ones didn't look completely comfortable, but it was a bunch of steps up from almost getting stabbed by Wallace and Leena.

Oh, yeah, _Leena_. It was really, _really_ obvious that that Wallace was pining for the harvest mouse fem. Well... Wallace did have good taste.

Well, so did he... sort of.

"You're grinning. What have I done now?" he heard Wallace ask.

He snorted again. "Oh, nothing much. Just thinking about, er, relationships."

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no lies."

Wallace laughed. "We start talking about Grimtooth, and we meander to other tangents so quickly! Is this normal among the Kavazarans?"

"No, not really. I just follow the conversation wherever it takes me. In a way, I guess."

"It seems the conversation goes where _you_ direct it," Wallace chortled.

"That's 'cause I showed it who's boss."

He and Wallace laughed.

Then he felt a paw on his shoulder. Quick mindscan... what did Wallace—

Ah... He looked at Wallace.

"Look over there." Hmm... did Wallace somehow transfer a _smile_ to speech?

He looked. Uh, okay... Raezel and Leena were wandering through the melting snow—spring was almost here, whoopee!—talking to each other animatedly.

And, oh yes, Wallace was gazing at Leena in _that way_. Yep, Wallace was in love... but the mouse just wasn't quite sure if it yet.

Weeellll... things like that just needed a little push.

"You know... it's obvious to everyone with one eye and half a brain that you have a crush on that mouse fem, Wallace."

"Crush?"

"Uh... you fancy her."

Hah. First came the splutter. "What... what do you mean? I... I, er—" Now, denial stage. "What am I saying? Whatever gave you that impression?" Okay-dokey, now the acceptance phase. A raised eyebrow and disbelieving look helped that along. "Well... I do have some feelings for Leena, I suppose. I... I don't know." Now, requests for advice. Geez, this _had_ to be a science... "What do you think I should do?"

Er... Maybe not that advice. "Why are you asking me?"

Um... Wallace looked puzzled. "I noticed that you and Raezel seemed to be involved. Perhaps you can help me in that respect."

Okay, that was it. Hah! Spiderspit, poor Wallace. "Sorry to break it to you, but what I know about fems could fit on the head of an exceedingly small pin."

"But you and Raezel..."

"Yeah, I know we're all touchy-feely. Glad we are, too." Oh yeah. "But, well, it was a kind of thrown together romance, really. Before this, we, er, _clashed_ quite a bit."

"Oh."

"Um-hmm. All that I know I picked up from friends and their angsty lives. Don't ask."

"I would not even consider it, Tigron."

He gave a little laugh. "But I will say this: Be polite and ask her on a date."

Now he noticed that Wallace looked completely confused. "A date? As in giving her some fruits?"

Oops. Had to work around the vernacular-barrier. Drat.

"Well, a 'date' is basically a... hmm... private outing with somebeast you're, erm, _interested_ in. You know, have some dinner, watch the moon rise, take a long walk along the beach, talk about life, stuff like that."

"I think I see."

"Great. Oh, by the way, you should _really _try—"

"Grimtooth 'as appeared in front of the walls again!" He heard. Oh, not _again_.

He looked, and noticed one of the otters at the northern wall jabbing a finger down to the ground.

Oh, fleacrap, would Grimtooth _never_ learn?

* * *

"It is time these beasts learn how I became the scourge of the northlands," Tanth heard Grimtooth rasp.

Yes... the scourge. Accomplished through methods like _these_...

He hoped Veredia's hopes weren't misplaced as _he_ thought they were.

"Speaker of Redwall! Speak with me!" Grimtooth bellowed.

Nothing. No... speak with Grimtooth, you Redwallers. Otherwise...

He shuddered. He'd followed Grimtooth before, but this was straining it to the breaking point.

Where—

"What do you want now, Grimtooth?" he heard the voice of the mouse warrior call out.

"Have you reconsidered? If you open your gates, I promise I will only slay the fighters and spare the lives of the others."

Ah, the mouse didn't look the slightest bit interested in those words. "And you will enslave those you spare. I have heard this before. If you have nothing new to add, we are done here."

Here it comes...

"Wait... I do have something, _mouse_!" Grimtooth roared.

Grimtooth beckoned to the beasts behind. No...

He watched the two hordebeasts step from the trees, holding... a... young mole and squirrelmaid.

The look of abject horror on the mouse warrior...

"Will you let their deaths stain your conscience, mouse? Their families are already dead. Open your gates! I will allow you one hour!"

One hour...

* * *

"What can we do?" Raezel heard Vivan ask desperately. "I have a duty to the beasts within these walls, but I cannot passively watch two Dibbuns murdered!"

"But what can we do?" she heard the squirrel female—Treamyst? Yeah, that was the name—"We have no choice."

No kidding. Well...

"Me and Tigron can try a retrieval. Shouldn't be too much of a problem."

"No," she heard Treamyst say imperiously. Uh, why?

"Why is that?" Tigron asked. Ah. That was a wink... yep, the other lieutenant had read her mind.

"Well, you must forgive me if I still don't entirely _trust_ ver—"

"Treamyst!" she heard Audrin bark. "We do not need this here Especially not now."

Fleacrap, that branchbouncer had a pathological case of vermin-phobia. Cripes. And now Treamyst was just glaring at her and Tigron. Well, at least the calls for "don't trust those bloody farking baby-eating vermin monsters!" weren't coming anymore.

Spiderspit.

Abbess Vivian looked wearily at her. "Can you do it? We do not have much time."

"Well, we still have, uh, twenty minutes. Tigron can hammer out something, and we can—"

"_ABBESS_!" she heard a new voice call out. Sounded like the otter Winopal.

But Winopal was supposed to be watching the wall.

Uh-oh.

* * *

Maybe Grimtooth was slowly going insane. Tanth wasn't sure.

Hellgates, what else could account for Grimtooth wanting to do this?

And, ah, the mouse was back on the wall. The two beasts that had broken through to the castle were nowhere to be found. Strange. There was something familiar about those two beasts that had just punched through the hordebeasts like a sword through paper. Very strange. It had to be one of those "Kavazarans" rumors sometimes referred to. No consequence.

What Grimtooh was planning on doing... that was of consequence.

"Mouse! I've just thought of something. Perhaps you do not think I am serious."

Damnation, no.

"Sir, please, I beg you. Reconsider. These are... good beasts here. They will not resist with the threat—"

"Silence, Senior Officer!" Grimtooth cut him off. "This is beyond threats. No one opposes me and suffers naught." Why was Grimtooth's laughter so strange now? "No, they must know I will not stray from my goals."

"But, sir! If you carry this out, we will have less leverage!"

Now Grimtooth was smirking. "You underestimate me, Tanth, and overestimate _them_. No, this will have the desired effect. Yes, yes, it will."

What could he do? Hellgates, _what could he do_!?

What was Grimtooth planning now? There was still time—

And then Wallace took in Grimtooth's body language.

No...!

Tanth watched Grimtooth grab the squirrel by the scruff of the neck and toss the poor creature in full view of the northern walls.

"You think I jest?" he heard Grimtooth roar. "You think I am playing petty games? You think I have scruples?"

He watched Grimtooth beckon to one of the beasts behind him.

No, no, no...

The battleaxe.

Grimtooth was _really_ going to do it!

"Sir!" he screamed. "Reconsider, please! If—"

"_SILENCE_!" screamed Grimtooth. "You fool, your pathetic compunctions have done _nothing_ yet. It is high time that you abandoned your foolish scruples!"

Grimtooth turned back, battleaxe in paw.

"This is the first taste of what will happen for every moment of defiance, you fools!" Grimtooth screamed.

No...

He remembered.

Woodsnout's face was interposed over Grimtooth's... and his adopted sister's was on that poor young squirrel.

He had failed that time... and the blame! Guilt!

It would be over fast. A single swing, and that young one would die, sent to the peaceful Dark Forest.

And what could be done? Nothing, really. Either the mole would die too, or the Redwallers would surrender... and all die.

Dark Forest... the Redwallers had better be smart and simply ignore the young ones. Sacrificing the whole abbey in the... chance... to...

That was it! Grimtooth had it figured from the beginning! The moment the squirrel was slain, the beasts would either surrender or charge out to fight.

In either case, he knew they would all die.

It was stupid! Why would they do such a thing?

Why?

Because some things were worth fighting for... and some things weren't. Because... because there sometimes was no hope left.

Why in Hellgates? Perhaps...

Perhaps something was wrongheaded about the whole damned thing. Why was _he_ the keeper of everybeast? Woodsnout had made a choice. He'd done the best he could... really, there was nothing he _could_ have done short of subduing Woodsnout personally. Beasts had to make a choice. He could only do so much.

It wasn't his fault that he couldn't save souls...

But...

"Sir, no! We can—"

"_Tanth_!" No surprise, cut off by Grimtooth. Maybe—"Go to the rear ranks. I think I will _deal_ with you later." He watched Grimtooth turn away and raise the battleaxe. "You imbecile, I have put up with you long enough."

So had he. Yes indeed.

Could he do it in time?

There was a rasp as his rapier was yanked from its sheath.

Now... run forward... aim... strike...

The axe flew away. The paw went in an entirely different direction.

He gazed levelly at the surprised stoat.

He was done trying to save Grimtooth's soul.

* * *

"Er... I may be wrong, but tha' officer jus' cut off Grimtooth's paw," Winopal muttered.

"What?" she heard Wallace ask in what had to be amazement.

"Exactly what I said."

"Oh."

What a turn of events. What else was going to happen!?

* * *

Tanth heard Grimtooth chuckle dryly. "Humph. I knew this would happen someday, you soft-hearted weakling. Just not at such an inopportune moment."

The black stoat was, yes, spurting blood from the stump, and the other hordebeasts were staring in what had to be stupefied amazement.

Grimtooth gave a cruel smile, and it looked like the chieftain wasn't caring the least that a paw was lying dismembered on the ground. "I suppose things have to be taken care of sooner or later..."

What...?

Ahh!

Grimtooth was charging. Calm! Aim at the center of the chest. Closer... almost there and—

Missed!

His rapier had sunk into the right side, away from the heart. Damn! There was only enough time to—

"_Uurk_!"

The chieftain's large left paw was wrapped around his throat. Impossible to breath! And, damnation, he was backed into a tree. Stupid! Couldn't withdraw...

"You took my paw... I'll be satisfied with your life, Tanth. Go to Dark Forest knowing that your pathetic display did _nothing_ for Redwall."

Getting dark...

"Not nothing..." he heard a familiar voice say from the right.

"What now!?" Grimtooth roared and turned.

And then an arrow _sprouted_ from Grimtooth's left shoulder.

How...?

Ah, Grimtooth was looking in horror at the arrow. Then the black stoat squeezed harder and looked into his eyes.

"So... not the first betrayal, eh, Tanth?

What was the stoat talking about? Was it—

Dark... it was getting dark...

No breathe... No air... No...

And then he heard a _thunk_...

And he felt the grip loosen.

There was an arrow planted right between Grimtooth's eyes.

And the feathers on that arrow... were...

Blue!?

Veredia...!

And then nothing.

* * *

The beast who stepped from the trees, bow in paw, was not the poor female ferret who had languished under Grimtooth's horrid abuse for seasons. This beast was different, very different.

Veredia calmly nocked another arrow to her bow and surveyed the horde. Every single beast was staring at the ferret in outright shock. _No_ beast could believe what they were seeing; several entertained ideas that the female had risen from the dead.

Actually, for all intents and purposes, it was not far from the truth.

Gone was the emaciated, tortured, subservient slave. Present was trained fighter, willing to defend the beast she was prepared to love, one who was stronger and faster than before.

Veredia had, before her capture, been trained to fight with two choice weapons, the bow and the baton. Her parents and friends had taught her well, even though they had fallen defending their families from Grimtooth. She was all that remained, and cold fury roiled in her heart.

By blind luck, one of the more ambitious beasts—one who, coincidentally, had no love for Tanth—was near Grimtooth at the time of the stoat's demise and saw all that transpired. The weasel only hesitated a few seconds.

"THEY KILLED THE CHIEF! ATTACK!"

A throng of the late Grimtooth's beasts mindlessly charged Veredia and the unconscious Tanth. Meanwhile, the rest of the horde charged the abbey's walls. Slingstones from the otters and arrows from the horde zipped back and forth.

Veredia fired arrow after arrow, slaying with each shaft... but it would not be enough. There were simply too many.

Veredia knew her own death, and that of Tanth, was approaching on many scampering footpaws, but she still would not relent. When her arrows ran dry she shattered skulls and cracked limbs with expertly wielded batons.

It almost looked as if two young adults growing to love each other were about to die.

Almost.

* * *

Objective was surrounded by confirmed hostiles. Hostiles were now assaulting the objective. Friendlies were engaging hostiles. Friendlies were heavily outnumbered. High probability that friendlies would be eliminated.

It was time to implement the plan.

"Toss," said Staff Sergeant Heekee into her wraithcomm, her team sighting on Grimtooth's group of bowbeasts.

"Serve," whispered Master Sergeant Cid, his team stealthily in the trees on the northern side of Redwall.

"Ace," grunted Staff Sergeant Favilot Riplash, his team finally in position in the eastern border of Redall.

"Point," reported Sergeant Graikozilot, his team sneaking along the western ditch.

"Game on," growled Sergeant Major Blikot.

After Sergeant Tred had not reported in, Praetor Slydant had opted for a rapid approach into Mossflower. The Pathfinders were in the vanguard, flanked by the High Templar cavalry and backed by line and archery Templar units. However, now that Mossflower had been reached, High Templar scouts had confirmed the existence of a large hostile force surrounding the objective.

Thus, Sergeant Major Blikot and his twenty-five Pathfinders had been deployed far forward, and Slydant's strategy was beginning to take form.

The moment Blikot's command phrase went out over the wraithcomms, the five tactical teams sprang into action.

Heekee and her group of five began to punish the horde bowbeasts with close-range mechbow bolts. The bewildered missile beasts swung their gazes back in forth in vain attempts to discern the origin of the deadly projectiles. The fire heading towards Redwall slackened and ceased as the otters used the opportunity to engage the bowbeasts.

Cid's team, hidden in the trees, tore into the rear ranks of the yellow-garbed horde with cold efficiency. The rearguard of the invaders, its attention focused on threats to the _front_, was thrown into disarray.

Riplash's squad, under the cover of undergrowth and their own effective camouflage, began to send enfilading—flanking—mechbow fire into the eastern flanks of the horde. Hordebeasts dropped like swatted flies.

Graikozilot and his team were a hundred twenty yards off, in the ditch, their mechbows in sniper configuration. The team was searching for "targets of opportunity"—officers, beasts showing initiative, that sort of thing—and putting metal-tipped wood into their brains.

Blikot and his group had the hardest task. After confirmation that there might be innocents in the camp, the sergeant major had decided that a search-and-rescue mission was needed. Luckily, the camp had mostly emptied when the call to charge had sounded, and Blikot and his team made it out safely with the battered captives, though one fox corporal took an arrow to the thigh.

In the end, very little hordebeasts were actually killed. Though the mechbow was a highly effective weapon—three Pathfinders could fire more projectiles than seven Templar archers, albeit over a shorter distance—there was only twenty-five beasts, versus the nearly three hundred of the horde. No matter the weapon, that type of numerical superiority could not be overcome.

Not directly, at any rate.

Slydant put down the binoculars. Good! Blikot and his teams had done very well.

The Pathfinders hadn't been there to _kill_ the damned enemy, but to confuse them. And that had gone oh so very well.

"Needle to Blacksmith," a voice crackled over his wraithcomm.

Ah, Blikot. "Blacksmith here."

"We have completed objectives. Alpha Team is withdrawing with prisoners. Ready to receive and support Hammer and Anvil."

"Understood, Needle" he said into the green-channel wraithcomm. "Lay low and await contact."

"Roger that. Out here."

Right, then. Time to move out.

"Blacksmith to Hammer and Anvil... move out!"

* * *

"Er... what's that noise?" Wallace asked nobeast in particular.

It was a good question. It sounded like a giant hammer was thumping the earth, and, er that sounded very _bad_. Why would—

What in seasons!?

A... a... _wall_ of some type had just stepped out from the trees to the east, not too far from Grimtooth's—well, the late Grimtooth's—horde.

Oh, Dark Forest... Grimtooth had friends. It would be impossible now!

But... why were Tigron and Raezel grinning like madbeasts?

* * *

What stepped out from the eastern woods completely bewildered the yellow-clad horde. It seemed as if a solid wall of red-painted wood had materialized from the trees.

However, fifty feet shy of the horde, the wall stopped.

Everybeast who witnessed this wondered why the advance had ceased.

That is, they only wondered for a while, since worse horrors befell them.

Then, to the _northwest_, came a thundering, melodious tune. Little did the horde know that those tones, accompanied by rumbling clatter, were the horns of the High Templars and stamp of their mounts' talons.

The beasts at the northwest corner of the horde looked up in horror as armored creatures straight from Hellgates barreled forward.

"_COLD_ _STEEEEL_!"

"_KAVAZARAAA_!"

And then the Kavazaran High Templar cavalry, led by Praetor Slydant, slammed into the rear area of the horde. Corsecas lowered in a wall of spikes, the column of birds punctured the horde like an awl does cloth. The enemies, confused and demoralized because of Sergeant Major Blikot's strategic strike, offered little resistance. The fifty mounted High Templars rode through the middle of the mass of yellow, cutting down relentlessly the hostiles that attacked Redwall. There was even a High Templar that deposited a lone ferret female in the middle of the attacking army. Captain Kleea Silverstorm, Stormcallers at paw, tore into the horde with vigor, her skill and Wraith abilities safeguarding her from harm.

As soon as the Crimson Guard cohort passed through the mob of hordebeasts, it _didn't_ wheel around for another charge. A second charge would have completely shattered the horde.

Except that task was for the two line companies of the Captains Suranto Hammerpaw and Elvop, callsign "Hammer".

"Javelins! Up and over!" called the two captains.

Nearly simultaneously, the Templars bounded forward to gain momentum and unleashed their assegai into the enemy ranks. Two hundred-forty spears landed like a horrible rain on the mob.

"Out swords!" rang out the command.

There was a rasp of steel as short swords were drawn from sheathes.

"Advance! Double-time!"

And then a wall of shields hastened forward.

Back at Bladestone, the Dervaga had rushed forward like endless waves, chipping at the nearly unrelenting rock of Templars; however, this case was... different.

The roles were reversed.

To an extent.

The wall of shields charged forward like the very model of a tsunami, slamming into what could only be described as a crumbling cube of sugar.

Templar shield bosses shattered faces, Kavazaran steel violated flesh, and a rain of yard-long arrows from the 242nd Archery Battalion finished what the former two could not reach.

The horde dissolved. Literally.

Morale gone, nearly all of the marauders threw down their weapons and fled, in a classic example of a full-on rout.

* * *

"Humph. Time to show them why Bladestone was never attacked by hordes..." muttered Slydant. The idiots just never did learn, did they? Attacking innocents was a one-way trip to Hellgates.

Then into his wraithcomm, "_Chaaaarge_!"

* * *

It had been, well, _bloody_. For the horde.

It was seemingly flat out impossible, but _nobeast_ from New Kavazara had died. At worst, seven line soldiers had suffered grievous injuries, and dozens had lesser wounds... but that was it.

As is with most battles, the majority of kills were inflicted as the beaten hostiles tried to run but were cut down by the pursuing High Templar cavalry.

The horde was all but destroyed. The "Scourge of Grimtooth" was little more than a dozen scattered individuals who had narrowly escaped with their lives.

Grimtooth's horde was finished. Redwall was secure, for now.

Presently, however, there were some matters Praetor Slydant had to attend to.

* * *

Okay. Redwall was secure. Now to _assure_ the Redwallers he wasn't some other warlord looking for a pretty prize and beating off the competition to boot.

Snappy began to gibber, dammit, but the bloody-minded fowl shut up when Slydant slapped it. Stupid thing. Argh.

Now, down to business.

"I wish to speak with the garrison commander!" he called up. The otters weren't slinging stones, so that was a good sign. "I wish to speak with the..." er, what? Oh... "the commander of the otter guards!"

Hmm... where was that garrison leader? He really wanted to talk to that beast.

"What business do yah 'ave?"

It looked liked that otter fem was the boss. Ahem.

"Ma'am, I am Slydant, Praetor of Bladestone Castle, New Kavazara, in the far northlands. My battalion has been dispatched to reinforce Redwall Abbey against Dervaga assault. Ma'am, I have wounded. Permission to enter garrison?"

* * *

Oh! Tigron's and Raezel's comrades!

But, it would not hurt to be completely sure.

"Are they...?" she asked.

"Friends? Oh, heck yes," she heard Tigron say cheerfully. Well, that was good enough.

"Unbar th' gates!"

She hurried down from the battlements. It would be best to talk to this "Slydant" and get an idea of how these "Templars" operated. Hmm... Raezel and Tigron were following. Aye, it made sense, since these beasts most likely had to report or whatnot to Slydant.

Ah, she had made good time, aging bones and all. The gate was just being opened by otters—most likely Treamyst wanted nothing to do with this—and a... _thing_ was walking through.

As soon as this was done, Tigron and Raezel were going to explain _why_ they had neglected to mention the... the...

"Er... that's a dustrunner, Winopal," she heard Raezel explain. "It's the High Templar cavalry mount. Birds. Like to kill things."

Oh, excellent. She would have to tell Minerva to keep the Dibbuns away from those things.

But, the bird wasn't the important thing. It was the beast... riding...

The beast who _had_ to be Slydant hopped to the ground, after handing the strange spear-like weapon to another mounted soldier and the reins to another. She noticed that the figured removed gloves and helmet.

Impressive armor, very impressive... and obviously an officer by the markings. A brooch or pin of four crossed spears said so, at any rate.

Hmm... Not extraordinarily handsome, but not bad looking, either. Looked "older" too, perhaps—no, most likely—even older than her. Slydant's face seemed to radiate mature experience.

She heard a scraping noise behind her. What...?

She took a look. Oh. Tigron and Raezel had drawn themselves up stiffly. Perhaps a sign of readiness?

_Thump thump_.

Now the two had slapped their right fists to their left shoulders. A salute?

_Thump_.

Now the "praetor" had done the same. And was just standing there.

Wait, there was an idea...

She saluted back. T'was probably sloppy in their eyes, but perfection was impossible. Slydant dropped his paw and nodded. She looked behind her. Both Tigron and Raezel had their paws at their sides.

But, er, that left a question. She _did_ know, from experience with Long Patrol hares, that salutes were owed to higher ranks. Why did Slydant salute?

"Er, you're th' leader." No reaction. "Could yah tell me why yah saluted me?"

Was that a grin that flashed on that face?

"Ma'am not matter your technical rank, it is common courtesy, upon entering a garrison, to salute the garrison commander." Now Slydant frowned a bit. "Now, though it is usually a breach of etiquette, could I know your rank?. I see maybe forty beasts, which would make you a lieutenant commanding a reinforced platoon... but I really don't think you're that. Since I have no idea, I need to ask where you fit in the otter hierarchy."

Very strange. Well... there were those four—wait, no, five—between her and Skipper, so...

"I'm about sixth in line, I think."

She saw Slydant nod. "I can assume that means you are about a... lieutenant colonel, er..."

"Winopal."

"Er, yes, Lieutenant Colonel Winopal. A pleasure to meet you."

"Charmed, Praetor Slydant" she said. _What_? Why did she have to say _that_!?

Oh, good, Slydant wasn't giving it much thought, it seemed. By the fur, why did her mouth run like that? She was no scatter-brained Dibbun anymore! It would be best to forget that and salvage this slightly botched meeting. She stepped closer to the fox and extended a paw. "Well, Praetor Slydant, welcome to Redwall abbey.

She saw Slydant nod and also extend a paw.

Ah... a very firm grip. A strong paw, confident, and aye, one that wasn't young or—

_What in seasons_!?

Perhaps a bit too quickly, she broke the pawshake and stepped back.

By the fur...

* * *

Well, that had been interesting. Something had definitely passed between Winopal and Slydant. Geez. Well, the praetor's feelings were the praetor's business. It was probably just because Slydant hadn't expected a female "garrison commander".

Tigron really felt like scratching his head. Well, whatever. It was nothing, really.

"Lieutenants Snowdance and Sandstar?" Slydant asked.

"Sir!" he and Raezel said simultaneously.

"As soon as I can get my soldier's settled, I hope you can give me be a full debriefing."

"Sir, of course," he answered the fox

"Very good," Slydant said. He watched the fox turn back to Winopal. "Winopal, I think I had better talk to the, er, abbot of this place. He and I need to talk logistics right now. I have about five hundred soldiers, and I hope Redwall can support that number."

"I think so, easily," Winopal said to the fox. "But yah need ta talk with Abbess Vivian ta get everything arranged."

"Excellent," said the praetor. "Could you escort me to Abbess Vivian?"

"Aye, I can do that."

He saw Slydant nod and turn to him and Raezel. "That will be all, Lieutenants. Carry on."

And then Winopal and Slydant left.

Well...

"_Well_, _at least we got some reinforcements_," he heard Raezel mindspeak.

"_Yep_. _Joy_," he replied with a laugh. This was going to be definitely interesting.

* * *

This Redwall place was more interesting that he'd thought it would be. Meh.

Tred slowly advanced through the underbrush, mechbow at the ready. Keruki was up in the trees, watching his back. Thank Dark Forest for the mousey. He and her still had a chance!

Focus, focus.

Well, Redwall was up ahead, maybe a hundred yards away. Nice, high walls, and he could see some deadly-looking otters through his scope. Fleacrap.

Okay, nothing more to do than to lay low until the main force decided to come along. He swore he'd heard battle yesterday... but that was probably because he was goofed up from being farking tied for a couple days. It happened. Holy spiderspit there was one time—

_Crunch_.

Fark.

He crouched in the underbrush. Keruki had better be doing the same and—nah. No need to worry. The mousey was a pro.

Well... he could do this. Check out whatever had cracked a twig... maybe it was nothing. It better farking well not be. This whole week was pissing him off, dammit.

Ah... pawsteps, coming closer. A figure was coming into view right now. Right then, it was time to meet—

Heck no.

"Smaj?" he asked tentatively.

The form whirled around and focused a mechbow on his face. Er...

But it was definitely that eternally scowling rat sergeant major. Sweet.

"Tred?" Pause, and yep, there was recognition and shock competing on the other rat's face. Then... "_You_ _farking_ _juvenile delinquent_! _Where the _fark_ have you been_!? _I_'_ve had farking teams looking for you _allfarkingday!"

"Uh... preventing my arse from being killed, boss. Spiderspit, smaj, calm down."

"I _am_ calm, you pissant," Blikot said, and there was a smile. Goody. "Well, we got a surprise for you. We whacked an enemy horde yesterday, and Redwall's been secured." Ah, so he _wasn_'_t _goingnuts. "Well, I guess we're done for today." He watched Blikot talk into the wraithcomm on his wrist. "Red Lead to Red Team, I've found Tred. Track back to Waypoint Alpha, and we can get back to the abbey."

Almost everything was taken care off, except...

"Smaj... I'd like you to meet somebeast." Damn, where was Keruki? Ah, it didn't matter a fark... the kangaroo rat was hanging around someplace. Just call out... Keruki was bound to hear it. "Hey, Keruki. He's a friend."

"I presumed as such when you called out his name and bantered with him. Hello, Sergeant Major Blikot."

Er... the voice was coming from directly _behind_ the smaj. Uh...

"What the...!?" Blikot yelped and swung around. Nothing behind. Then how...?

And then he saw Keruki shimmer and materialize from the air. Invisibility... nice trick. Had to learn that one.

"Hello Sergeant Major. My name is Keruki. I assume you are a comrade of Tred's?"

Well, it looked like Blikot was taking this well. Sort of.

"Er, yes I am, ma'am." Blikot looked at him. Smaj had the _why didn_'_t you tell me this sooner_, _you bastard?_ look.

"Oh, she's an Unseen, Sergeant Major. Like, uh, Captain Blindsight of the Wraiths."

"Ah, okay," Blikot said, and he saw the smaj scratch his head. "I guess you need to talk with my CO, ma'am, Praetor Slydant. Let's get back to Redwall."

Keruki gave a little bow. "Let us see this Redwall then, Tred, Sergeant Major Blikot."

Well, the mousey not using his rank was pretty nice. Everything was rikky-tik in the world.

Farking _yeah_!


End file.
